


Get What You Deserve

by trash4ficsaboutlurv



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/F, F/M, Jessica Jones/Luke Cage - Freeform, M/M, Misty Knight/Colleen Wing - Freeform, Monica Rambeau/James Rhodey Rhodes, Multi, Natasha Romanov/Sharon Carter/Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-07-26 19:47:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 27,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7587454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trash4ficsaboutlurv/pseuds/trash4ficsaboutlurv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When black and brown kids start going missing and the police don't seem very inclined to investigate, Fury sends his Black Ops team in to get to the bottom of it. This makes Sam's first mission as Black Ops leader and he doesn't want to mess it up. Problem is, he's a little distracted dealing with his confusing-as-hell relationship with Steve, babysitting teenage superheroes who definitely act their age, and trying to get Rhodey, Luke, and Misty to be nice to the white girl on their *Black* op. Can the Black Ops team solve the mystery of the missing children of color? Can Rhodey come to terms with his assignment detail as English teacher? Will Sam and Steve have a happily-ever-after? Will Misty stop calling Sharon 'White Girl'? These really are the questions. :D</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. That Had To Hurt

**Author's Note:**

> I got feedback from a couple readers that they felt like Steve acted out of line several times in the story and that wasn't addressed. I totally agree and you can fault my laziness as I got to the end of the fic. I lost steam and sort of just wanted to wrap everything up, but for sure, Steve crossed boundaries (which was a purposeful move on my part; i think that is in keeping with his personality); I just never followed through on calling him out.

“You know what?” Steve said as Sam and he toweled the sweat off their necks and faces after their morning run. “I think you’re getting faster.”  

Sam eyed Steve suspiciously and tossed his sweaty towel at him. “I’m not even gonna give you the benefit of the doubt that you’re not about to make a terrible joke at my expense.” 

Steve opened the driver’s side door of his blue Prius and grinned. He threw Sam’s towel in the backseat. “I mean, you couldn’t get any slower, so…” 

Sam rolled his eyes. “Har har har. That joke’s about as old as you are.” 

Steve’s booming laugh startled a flock of birds, who took off twittering angrily at the disruption. Sam ducked into the car and buckled up.  

When Steve had pulled out of his parking spot, he handed Sam the AUX cord. “Okay, let’s do some musical education.” 

Sam fumbled for his phone and hooked it up. When he pressed shuffle on his 1990s playlist, Mariah Carey’s “Emotions” started and Sam nodded. “This is a good one. Iconic.” 

“You always say that,” Steve pointed out.  

“I must have really good taste in music then.” 

Steve flung a bright, beaming smile at Sam that was a like jolt of static electricity. Sam turned away and studied the empty sidewalks. He had something he needed to say to Steve and he wasn’t going to be able to with Steve smiling at him like that.  

“Emotions” came to an end and the opening chords of Chumbawamba’s “Tubthumping” started. Both Sam and Steve reached for Sam’s phone. Their fingers brushed against each other and Sam snatched his away like he was dodging a snake bite.  

Steve didn’t seem to notice, just put his hands back on the wheel at the 8 and 4 positions. “Go back,” he said, “I liked that first one.” 

Sam obliged, but said, “You’ll like the next one, too. It should definitely be your theme song.” 

“Oh yeah?” Steve said. “You been thinking about theme songs for me?”  

They listened to “Emotions” two more times before moving on to “Tubthumping,” and Steve agreed that the song was pretty biographically accurate. Sam head-banged along, yelling “I GET KNOCKED DOWN BUT I GET UP AGAIN! YOU’RE NEVER GONNA KEEP ME DOWN!” out the window as they flew down the highway. Steve was pushing about 10 miles over the speed limit, but it didn’t matter because they were in that perfect sweet spot when there wasn’t much traffic in the DC metro area. (Most people lived their entire lives in NoVa and never experienced the like.)  

They arrived at Sam’s house ridiculously fast. Last night Sam had told his sister (so he couldn’t get out of it) that he was going say something when Steve dropped him off after their morning run. Sarah had hurled all sorts of abuse at Sam, telling him what an idiot he was, but eventually she’d settled down enough to say, “I support your decision—even if it’s a terrible one.” Sam had been putting off talking to Steve for about a month because there was a rather loud minority in his head that agreed with his sister, that said that things were fine and could continue this way forever. Sam was happy, Steve was happy, and happiness wasn’t something to just casually toss aside. Not even for more complicated, mature emotions and thoughts about the future or the past and other high-minded, get-in-your-own-way bullshit.  

But Sam needed to do this.  

Steve accompanied Sam into his house like he always did, which kind of blew the first part of Sam’s plan, which had been to do this in the car for an easier get-away when the time came.  

Steve reached for Sam in the foyer and Sam’s traitorous legs carried him forward. And Sam could say it was just force of habit or the path of least resistance, or he could admit that he wanted to end up in Steve’s arms. Because he liked when Steve grabbed him, liked ending up chest to chest, face to face, body heat commingling.  

But Sam had a plan. He was a man with a plan. A stupid, painful, don't-want-to plan, but still a plan. A plan to forestall bigger hurts down the road. A smart, mature (ma-Ture, not ma-chure, thank you very much) plan.  

 “We can’t keep doing this,” he murmured, his face buried in the crook of Steve’s neck. His hands were on Steve’s hips, ostensibly to push their bodies apart, but for the moment, only lingering, only holding on. Steve smelled like sweat and shampoo and toothpaste, the smells of their morning runs, a scent combo that worked like a Pavlovian bell on Sam. Because usually when Sam was this close to Steve after their runs, they went upstairs and Steve fucked him until they were both wrung out and exhausted.  

But Sam didn’t want to do casual, sometimes-fuck-buddies anymore.  

And he didn’t want to ‘lock Steve down’ either, as his sister Sarah had been insisting he do since that first run on the National Mall. He didn’t know what he wanted was the problem. And he wasn’t going to know if he didn’t take a step back and evaluate the situation without Steve’s perfect scent clouding his mind. 

“Do you have somewhere to be?” Steve asked. He tilted Sam’s chin and ran the pad of his thumb over Sam’s lips. 

Sam sighed. “No. I just – we should stop this whole—” He took a necessary step back. “Friends with benefits thing.” 

Steve tilted his head to the side like a confused puppy. If Tony or Rhodey were around, they’d be tripping over themselves to define ‘friends with benefits’ in the most offensive or embarrassing way possible. They got a real kick out of explaining the modern world in all its crassness to Steve. Sam knew Steve put on the act of innocence because it’s what people expected and he was ever the people pleaser.  

“Did I do something wrong?” Steve asked. His shoulders turned inward as he asked the question, his go-to “ _be smaller_ ” body language when he was upset. 

Sam sighed. “My head’s just not on right. I don’t know exactly what I need, but I’m pretty sure sex isn’t it.” 

Steve frowned. “What’s going on, Sam? Is this about you and me, or…?” 

Sam nodded, shrugged, laughed a little helplessly. “Would it sound too much like a bad script if I said I was trying to figure out who I am? When I’m not with you?” 

Steve sighed and pressed his fists into his hips. “Is this about E! calling you a sidekick yesterday?” 

Sam laughed. “God, no. E! can suck my whole entire ass. I don’t care about that stuff, you know that. It’s just…” Sam ran his nails over his close cropped hair. “When you and Sharon were on that long op in Montana being fake married last year, I got to know myself a little as Falcon and Avenger, instead of, you know, ‘Captain America and the Falcon.’” Sam waved his hands like he was showing off a Broadway title in lights. “And I think I’ve lost that a little since you came back.” 

Steve frowned at Sam as though he were trying to understand a language he’d only ever heard in the classroom and now had to translate in the middle of a foreign country he desperately wanted to leave.  

“I think sex confuses me,” Sam continued. “And I don’t want to be confused.” 

“ _I’m_ confused,” Steve said. “It feels like you’re breaking up with me.” 

“We’d have to be together for that.” 

Steve's jaw clenched. “Which we’re not.” 

“Right,” Sam said. “Which we’re not.”  

“Okay,” Steve said, shoving his hands into his jogger pants pockets. “Sex is a no-go.” 

“Maybe Tony will let you have your way with him,” Sam joked, trying to lighten the dense, dark mood. “Pepper’s moved out again.” 

Steve smiled, but it was his TV interview smile, very polite and superficial. “Yeah, Sam. I’ll give him a ring some time.” 

“You’re mad,” Sam said, taking half a step back toward him. 

Steve shook his head. “I’m just processing.” 

“Steve, we’re still fri—” 

The cheerful tri-tone ring of a text message bleated from Sam’s pocket.  

“—ends,” he finished as Steve said, “You should take that.” Steve turned his shoulders toward the door. “I’ll see myself out.” 

Sam wanted to stop Steve in his tracks, to explain himself better, but he didn’t actually have a better explanation. Didn’t know how to say that his brain had gone all mushy and gelatinous since he and Steve started screwing around and Sam didn’t _like_ feeling mushy and gelatinous. He liked certainty of mind even when circumstances were beyond his control, which—face it—being an Avenger pretty much guaranteed uncertainty of circumstance.  

But with Steve, Sam was always torn in a dozen directions and every time he’d just about figured it out, Steve would come around and scatter all Sam’s carefully collected thoughts and feelings and Sam would have to start all over again.  

“Okay,” Sam said, trying not to sound wistful or unsure, “I’ll see you then.”  

Steve nodded curtly and spun on his heel.  

Sam watched him go, noted the ramrod straight bearing of a soldier instead of the easygoing, relaxed posture of Steve these last few months. Sam had done that. He sighed and fished his phone out of his pocket. It was from Fury.  

 **NF** <Black Ops Detail.> 

Well, that should lift his mood.  

**** 

When Sam arrived at the SHIELD compound, the others were already gathered in the North Wing. Rhodey, Misty, Luke, America (and Sharon for some reason) were milling about the conference room, while Monica, Ororo, Miles, and Victor shared a split-screen setup on the Holotech wall.  

“Sam!” Luke said in greeting, clapping Sam on the shoulder. “Man, how’ve you been?” 

Sam shrugged and made a conscious effort not to wince at the sting of Luke’s heavy hand. Sam had thought he’d grow used to the pain of his super powered friends’ back-clapping and high-fiving, but he hadn’t and _they_ had no concept of regular human fragility. Peter Parker had hugged Sam last year and literally cracked one of his ribs, and on more than one occasion, Steve had sent over a fruit basket or flowers for hurting Sam during one of their bedroom romps. (It was the least sexy part of their relationship--and part of their relationship was fighting mysterious goo monsters from time to time!) 

“Me, Steve, and Sharon have been on reserves the last couple month,” Sam said, “since we—” 

“Brought down H.A.M.M.E.R.,” Misty supplied. “Will you ever stop bragging about that? A guy takes down one parasitic organization that’s infiltrated the U.S. government and that’s all he’ll talk about.” 

“Hi, Misty,” Sam said, rolling his eyes. “And for the record, I’ve taken down three parasitic organizations that have infiltrated the U.S. government, so there.” He crossed his arms and stuck out his tongue. Misty always brought out the bratty little brother in him.  

Misty clapped him on the shoulder (with her bionic arm on the same shoulder that was tender from Luke’s friendly hello. Sam was pretty sure she did it on purpose.) “Fury said this was Black Ops but Victor, Chavez, and Sharon are here, so…” 

“More of a Rainbow Coalition,” Rhodey said, looking Sharon up and down.  

“Hey,” Sharon interjected good-naturedly. She tucked her hair behind her ears 

 “James, I thought you were in New Orleans.” Misty cocked her head toward the tech wall and Monica. 

“Honeymoon got cut short. One of those arch-nemeses Tony’s always making turned up in Prague.” 

“You shouldn’t have come off your honeymoon for that,” Misty said. “Any one of us could’ve handled it. You shoulda just told Fury no.” 

Luke and Sam laughed. “Misty, you’re the only one of us who tells Fury no and gets away with it.” 

“That’s not entirely true,” Fury said, startling the four of them. “T’challa says no to me on a regular basis. Apparently running his perfect, nothing-ever-goes-wrong country is too time consuming to ever intervene in the apocalypse.” 

“Is that what we’re being called in for?” America asked. “ _Another_ end-of-the-world gig?” She leaned against the edge of the conference table and pushed a hand through her long, wavy hair. That wrinkle between her brows deepened a little as she spoke.  

Rhodey turned to Luke. “How many apocalypses are we up to?”  

“18 by my count.” 

“More than that,” Fury said, “But I don’t worry your pretty, little heads with the ones I can handle myself.” He strode over to the tech wall. “Unmute,” he ordered and the mic feedback from Ororo, Monica, Victor, and Miles’s various computers twanged uncomfortably for a second. “And everyone pay attention.” 

Sam and the others hurried to take seats at the conference table. America sat on the table, cross-legged.  

“Here’s the situation,” Fury began. 

Rhodey raised his hand. “Just one sec,” he interrupted. “I thought this was a _Black_ Ops mission.” He tilted his head toward Sharon very conspicuously. “What’s going on?” 

Fury rolled his eyes. “I invited Carter, Chavez, and Mancha because they’re going to help us.” 

“I got no problem with Chavez and Mancha,” Rhodey said.  

“You got a problem with me?” Sharon asked, sounding hurt and surprised. 

“It’s semantics,” Luke chimed in. “Is it really a _Black_ Op if there’s a white girl on the team?” 

“You can figure that out amongst yourselves later,” Fury said. “Right now, you’re going to listen to me and obey my orders.” 

Rhodey shrugged and Misty said, in a loud whisper, “Don’t make Dad mad. I gotta ask him a favor after this.” 

Sam grinned. Misty was going to ask Fury if he’d walk her down the aisle next summer. Colleen had proposed a couple weeks ago and Misty told Sam her first thought hadn’t been, “Yes! 1000 times yes!” It had been, “Hm, how do I convince Fury to give me away?”  

Fury cleared his throat, but there was an almost-smile thing happening that only Misty had ever brought to Fury’s face, as far as Sam knew. “Okay, I brought you all in because we’ve got a situation in Civicsburgh.” He pressed a button on his computer and a hologram of a map appeared. “Can everyone see the graphics?” he asked. 

Ororo, Monica, Victor, and Miles nodded.  

“Civicsburgh is the fourth largest city in America with the highest proportion of black and brown citizens. Few jobs, high crime, tons of pollution. B-roll for apocalypse movies gets taken there. The state government stopped investing in the city when the white to black ratio tipped in the wrong direction.” The faces of dozens of teenagers starting appearing on the hologram. “So nobody cares that Elijah Jackson or Sherrod Woodley or Mercedes Rodriguez are missing, have been missing for as long as three months.” 

The hologram stopped on a picture of a young black girl, maybe 16 or 17. She was beautiful with a big, broad smile like the camera person had just told her some great news. 

“This is Tatiyana Coombs,” Fury said. “The first of sixteen kids to go missing in Civicsburgh these last three months. That’s a lot even if you factor in runaway rates. She’s a good kid. Sings in her church choir, high soprano. She apparently cooks the best soufflé her mother’s ever had. But the police don’t care. They don’t care about Tatiyana, or Sherrod or Mercedes or any of the others.” 

“Haven’t the police done _anything_?” Sharon asked. 

America glanced at Sharon’s face and snorted. “Oh wow, I’m not even from this dimension and I can tell how stupid that was.” 

“Go easy on her,” Luke said. “You can’t know what you don’t know.” 

“Police aren’t always motivated to find a black or brown kid whose gone missing,” Sam explained. 

“It’s their job,” Sharon insisted. 

Monica laughed. “You’re preaching to the choir. Go tell _them_ that.” 

Fury shook his head. “We’re not waiting for them anymore. I’m sending in Black Ops + Sharon to figure it out.” He pulled a stack of folders from the podium and handed them to Luke. “Take the one with your name on it. These are your new identities.” To the group on the Holotech wall, he said, “There’s a file on your desktops.” 

“English teacher?” Rhodey said in disgust. “I’m an _English_ teacher. Need I remind everyone that I went to MIT?” 

“No,” Misty, Luke, Monica, and Sam said in chorus. 

Fury frowned. “I didn’t mean to imply that your new aliases were up for debate. The only question is: are you in or out?” 

Ororo cleared her throat. “I’m gonna have to be out on this one. I’m fighting a developer who’s trying to bulldoze a village for condos. I just can’t take this on right now.” 

“Fair enough,” Fury said. “You and your talents will be missed.” 

“I’m out too,” Monica sighed. “They need me for the Black Lives Matters stuff here in New Orleans. We’re getting ready to push through some legislation that could be historic, maybe even become precedent for national reforms.” 

“That’s important work,” Fury acknowledged.  

Monica smiled and pulled up her file so everyone could see it on the screen. “Although I would have made an excellent bus driver.” 

“Can I be a bus driver?” Rhodey asked. “Anything’s better than being an English teacher.” 

“Identities are non-transferable,” Fury said sternly.  

Rhodey muttered rather mutinously under his breath, but sat back defeated. 

“Anyone else need to bow out?” Fury asked. When no one spoke, he nodded to the screens. “Thanks, Lieutenant. Thanks, Miss Munroe.” Their cameras went dark. “Right then, this op is very personal to me. You’re going to go in posed as teachers and students at the school that has had the most disappearances and you’re going to get to the bottom of this.” 

Misty frowned. “Hold on one sec. This is a sausage fest,” she said, jabbing her finger accusatorily at all the men. 

“It’s three to five,” Miles said.  

“Yeah, but a second ago, it was five to five and I liked that a lot better.” 

Fury cleared his throat. “Well, I also invited a little girl on the Upper East Side to join us, but her parents said no and she insisted she be allowed to bring her dinosaur.”  

Rhodey coughed. “Her dinosaur?”  

“Her dinosaur,” Fury said. “Like Sam’s always saying, ‘Everybody’s got a gimmick.’ I also considered inviting Riri Williams. She’s making some noise, but she’s too inexperienced for this op.” 

“Me and Monica are thinking about inviting her for a girls’ weekend,” Misty said.  

“Get to her before Tony does,” Rhodey said. “Poor Peter was Tony’s project for four years and no one needs that kind of attention.” 

“Noted,” Misty said.  

Sam leafed through his folder. “I didn’t get an ID,” he said, noticing that his file was just an aggregate of info about the missing teens and the rest of the team.  

“Didn’t I mention?” Fury said. “You’re running point. Congratulations, Wilson. Your first command.” 

“Nice,” Rhodey said, reaching over to muss Sam’s hair. 

“Baby bro all grown up,” Misty cooed. 

“Thanks,” Sam said to Fury. “I won’t let you down.” 

Fury shook his head and pointed to the hologram where Tatiyana was still smiling, unaware of her fate. “Don’t let her down.” 

They all looked at the picture and Sam swallowed thickly, feeling the full weight of responsibility settle on his shoulders.  

*** 

“So Rhodey’s an English teacher,” Sam said when Fury had left them to talk over the details of the mission.  

“With multiple degrees from the Massachusetts Institute of Technology,” Rhodey interrupted. 

“Really?” Misty asked. “I thought you went to a liberal arts school.” 

“Me too,” Luke said. “I coulda sworn you had a BA in Floral Arrangement Design.” 

“I hate you,” Rhodey muttered. 

“So, Rhodey is an English teacher,” Sam repeated, trying not to laugh at Rhodey’s injured expression. “Misty is art, Luke is gym, Sharon is substitute vice principal.” 

“What did Fury do with all the teachers filling those positions?” America asked. 

“It’s an inner city school,” Luke said. “They have high turnover rates.” 

“They don’t pay the teachers enough,” Sharon said.  

Misty harrumphed. “They don’t do enough of anything.” 

“Well,” Sharon said, flipping through her file, “we’re going to change that. I’m going to _Freedom Writer_ those kids.” 

Misty rolled her eyes. “That movie – all of those movies – are absurdly racist.” 

“White savior,” Luke added. 

“Yeah, I know,” Sharon said. “But that’s literally what my folder says.”  

Misty snatched Sharon’s file out of her hands and read the first page. She smirked at Rhodey and Sam. “I always knew Fury must have a sense of humor.”  

“I think he keeps it stored under the eye patch,” Rhodey said. “Only takes it out in dire circumstances.”  

“Well, this counts,” Sam said. “Black and Latino kids going missing and no one’s kicking up a fuss but us? Dire.”  

“I’m not so sure that I can pull off my identity,” Miles said skeptically from the Holotech wall. “Wrestler? I don’t know.” 

“Course you can,” Sam said. “Fury handpicked you for this. He knows what you’re capable of.” 

“Really?” Victor asked. “Because my file just says ‘Latino student.’ That’s some real impressive tailoring. He must’ve stayed up all night thinking that one up. Is America a ‘Latina student’?” 

America shook her head. “I’m a ‘troublemaker’ and there’s a picture here of Bender from _The Breakfast Club._ ” 

Victor nodded. “So it’s just me who has a generic ID. Cool. At least, I’m special.” 

“Sorry, Vic,” Sam said. “I’ll point out Fury’s mistake to him.” 

“I know black people can’t be racist,” Victor said. “But this feels like some sort of ‘ist’.” 

“Cool your engines,” Sam said. “Fury just doesn’t know you as well as the others.” 

Victor looked unconvinced.  

“Anyhow, I figure we can head out day after tomorrow. Gives everyone time to close up any loose ends.” 

“Can’t get down to New Orleans and back in that time,” Rhodey pouted.  

Sam shrugged. “Sorry, man. Guess you’re not getting laid until we finish the mission.” 

Rhodey sighed. “The sacrifices we heroes make.” 

*** 

Sam was giddy with excitement. His first command with SHIELD. He was always Steve’s second on regular missions and Rhodey or Misty’s second on Black Ops. He hadn’t really ever thought about doing more than that before. But now that Fury had given him his trust, Sam’s adrenaline was so high he wanted to backflip off a cliff into a waterfall. Or maybe something slightly less deranged.  

Steve would be so happy for him. He was always insisting that Sam should ask for his own team. Sam whipped out his phone to text him before remembering their talk this morning. Sam had said they were still friends and he meant it, but maybe he should give Steve a little room, all things considered. And Sam supposed it breached some confidentiality agreements to go blabbing to his sister or any of his non-SHIELD friends. Which narrowed his victory party down to one. He shrugged. He could dance in his underwear alone to celebrate. Wasn’t any shame in that.  

Misty texted him late in the afternoon while he was drinking a beer and watching a preseason game between the Ravens and the Packers.  

 **MK** <Fury’s walking me down the aisle. Thundercats are go!!!> 

Sam sent back a wall of emojis. 

 **MK** <wanna be in the wedding party?> 

 **SW** <doing what?> 

 **MK** <I don’t know, but Colleen and I have basically resigned ourselves to having a really big wedding. Maybe you can be the ring-bearer. Or a flower girl.> 

 **SW** <just don’t put me in a halter dress. That neckline does nothing for my shoulders.> 

Sam was about to Google search “Terry Crews in halter top” to send a pic to Misty, but his doorbell rang.  

 **SW** <BRB> he texted. 

Sam pulled a t-shirt over his head as he walked to the door. Last time he opened his door shirtless, his neighbor Mrs. Gilkerson was coming over to complain about his grass being a centimeter above regulation and she’d been outraged that he’d answered his door practically naked. Sam could go a long time without receiving dozens of strident letters from members of the Homeowners Association asking him to show a little class (and also trim his lawn). Never mind that he spent his days saving the world from destruction. To these guys, he was just Condo 152 Owner.  

He pulled open the door ready to explain to Mrs. Gilkerson that he was going to mow his lawn first thing tomorrow morning, but Steve was standing there instead. His shoulders were rounded, hands in his pockets, and he was chewing his lip anxiously.  

“Hey, Sam,” he said. 

“Hey, Steve,” Sam said. “Come in.” He held open the door and noticed that neither Steve’s Prius nor his motorcycle were in the driveway. Steve must have walked over.  

“Heard about your op,” Steve said, turning around unexpectedly so that Sam crashed into his hard chest. Steve didn’t even rock back, just reached out to steady Sam. 

“It’s pretty wild,” Sam said. “Totally unexpected.” 

“Because you’re so supremely overqualified?” Steve teased.  

“Dude, don’t gas me up like that. I might fail spectacularly.” 

“You won’t,” Steve said. He patted Sam’s shoulder, let his hand slide down to his chest. Sam’s breath stuttered a little.  

“Steve,” he sighed.  

Steve let his hand fall. “You’ll be amazing out there.” 

“Thanks. Did you come to watch the game? These rookies look terrible.” Sam walked back into the living room, Steve trailing behind him.  

“No, I, uh, came to talk to you about this morning.” 

“Yeah?” Sam said. He sat down and grabbed his beer.  

“Yeah, it all happened so fast; I thought we could talk some more.” 

Sam nodded. “Okay.” 

“Like maybe talk about why? Um, just, you know, so there’s no…” Steve trailed off and looked at Sam through his long, dark eyelashes. 

Sam exhaled. “It’s not that big a deal, Steve. We’re changing exactly one facet of our relationship.” 

“A very nice facet,” Steve said. 

Sam tended to agree. “But not the only one.” 

“It’s a slippery slope,” Steve said. “This morning it’s no sex. Now you’re going away indefinitely.” 

Sam could tell Steve was trying to sound jokey, but he was doing a terrible job of it. He patted Steve’s knee. “I promise this isn’t about you,” he said as gently as he could. 

Steve grimaced. “I just—that’s not good enough, Sam. I mean, I get it: you don’t want to anymore, fine. But your explanation is kinda shit.” 

“I don’t know what to tell you, Steve. I don't have an explanation. I don’t owe you an explanation.” 

“Don’t do that,” Steve said. “Don’t treat me like some asshole fratboy who doesn’t know when no means no.” 

“It just seems like you came over here to convince me out of my decision.” 

“Not convince,” Steve insisted. “Understand.” 

Sam set his beer bottle on a coaster carefully, giving himself a second or two to control his tone. “You don’t have to understand, Steve. You just have to respect it. 

“Sorry, but I have a hard time respecting bullshit excuses not to be together.” 

“We weren’t together! We were friends who had sex!” 

“What’s your definition of together?” Steve shouted. 

“Was this your grand romantic gesture, Steve? To come over here and tell me my feelings are inconvenient and stupid? Well, you’ve really swept me off my feet. In fact, why don’t we go upstairs right now? We can fuck to your heart’s content.” 

“You’re twisting my words!” Steve accused. 

“Am I? ‘Your explanation is shit.’ I’m making ‘bullshit excuses’?” 

“I’m sorry,” Steve said, his neck flushed. “You’re just—you’re scaring me, Sam. You’re pushing me away for no reason.” 

Sam stood up. “I gotta get ready for my op. I can’t do this right now.” 

“Talk?” 

“Talk to you about a decision I’ve already made.” 

“Sam—” 

Sam crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re not going to change my mind, Steve, so either you get it through your head or we’re just going to have to be mad at each other.” 

Steve stood up. “Then I guess we’re going to be mad.” 

“I guess so.” 

Sam and Steve glared at each other, the energy in the room charged and angry. Sam half wanted to kiss him, half-wanted to kick him in the shin really hard. Steve seemed to be wrestling with the same internal struggle as his eyes flicked between looking at Sam and looking at his lips. The unbearable tension only broke when Steve’s phone beeped.  

“You better take that,” Sam said, turning away to fumble with a few knickknacks on his bookshelf.  

“Looks like Fury’s got something for me to do, too,” Steve said.  

“Good luck with that,” Sam muttered. 

"Great." 

Sam didn’t turn around until the front door closed behind Steve. He watched the TV screen as a rookie running back got pulled to the ground by a pile of linemen. NBC showed the play again in slow motion and one of the announcers said jovially, “Boy, that _had_ to hurt!” and the other answered, “There’s no way it didn’t, Bob. He’s in the National Football League, now. He’s gotta learn to take a beating.” 

Sam threw himself back on the sofa and groaned. That could not have gone worse.  

 

*** 

“So, what’re you and Steve fighting about?” Nat asked when Sam answered his phone, which had startled him out of a deep sleep. 

“Nat, it’s four in the morning.” 

“Not in Berlin.” 

Sam yawned. “Well, I’m not in Berlin.”  

“Bucky says Steve went out for drinks with him last night. Steve never goes out for drinks.” 

“His metabolis—” 

“I don’t need a rundown of Steve’s physiology. I wanna know why you two are fighting.” 

“We’re fine, Nat.” 

“I think it’s fair to warn you that if you lie to me again, I’m going to sic Bucky on you.” 

“Bucky can bite me,” Sam muttered. 

“Is that what you’re into?” Natasha teased. 

“I’m into sleeping another two hours.” 

“Well, you can go back to sleep when you tell me how you drove Steve into the ineffective arms of alcohol. Bucky didn’t care enough to pester.” 

Sam sighed. There was literally no way to get out of this phone call without telling Nat the truth. Even hanging up would only postpone and intensify her harassment. “I told him we should stop having sex,” he admitted.  

Natasha whistled. “A broken heart. Ugh. That is not my area of expertise.” 

“I didn’t break his heart, Nat.” 

“All offense, Sam, you are _such_ an idiot.”  

“Cool. Are we done? Can I go back to sleep?” 

“One more thing.” 

“What?” Sam asked, stifling another yawn. 

“Has anyone ever told you your sleepy voice is kinda sexy?” 

“Good-bye, Nat.” Sam hung up and set his phone on the dresser.  

A broken heart. Nat could be so dramatic when it suited her.  

Sam tried to be pulled back under toward sleep, but that was a no-go. All he could think of was that Steve had gone drinking last night. Ostensibly because of their fight. Sam let his eyes drift shut and his traitorous brain brought him memories of lying in this bed with Steve, never for long, always just to catch their breath. Steve was a cuddler, though, liked to pull Sam in like a teddy bear – never mind that his body heat index was a scientific wonder. Whenever Sam complained that he was getting all sweaty, Steve would say, “I can work with that” and round 2 would commence.  

Sam’s dick jumped experimentally and Sam sighed. “Not today,” he said out loud.  

He rolled out of bed as a distraction. Nothing wrong with going on his run a couple hours early. Alone. Without Steve. Nothing wrong with that at all. 

 


	2. Stay At Home Dad

Fury secured a brownstone in one of the least terrifying neighborhoods of Civicsburgh for the Black Ops team. Miles and Victor put up a fuss because they had to share a room, but otherwise the move-in was seamless. SHIELD had completely gutted the interior and revamped it with SHIELD tech and more comfortable finishes than you were likely to find in a regular pre-war. Misty even mentioned that she wanted the number of the interior decorator because she and Colleen were thinking of buying a place in Harlem.  

“You could always move to D.C.,” Sam pointed out. 

Misty wrinkled her nose. “New York isn’t perfect, but at least it isn’t D.C.” 

Sam laughed. D.C. had been his home since he returned from Afghanistan – too many ghosts in New York – but he still loved Harlem like a family member. And he still had that New York superiority complex.  

“Maybe I’ll move back up there,” Sam said. 

“And leave Steve?” Rhodey interjected. “Yeah right.” 

Sam dropped his head, but at that moment, America, Miles, and Victor all came tumbling through the living room, in the middle of a fight. America had webbing in her hair and they all smelled faintly of ozone, as though Victor had fried one or the other of them with his zaps. America had Miles over her shoulders like a scarf and Miles was dragging Victor by the leg with a thick string of spider web rope. Misty sidestepped their walking spectacle and raised a brow at Sam as if to say, ‘Handle it.’ 

Sam rolled his eyes.  

“Alright, kiddos! Time for bed. Please, release one another. Stop figh—America, don’t throw him into another dimension.” 

Rhodey and Misty grinned as Sam went to pull his teenage wards apart and Sam was himself grateful for the distraction from talk of Steve.  

*** 

“Everybody’s thinking it, so I’m just gonna say it,” Misty said over breakfast before their first day of school. “Sam is our stay-at-home dad and he’s going to have crazy empty-nest syndrome while we’re away.” She bit into her buttery toast with a satisfying crunch. Crumbs scattered across the counter as she waved her hand in concert with her words. “The important thing is to have hobbies, Sam, interests. Maybe start a book club.” 

Sam rolled his eyes and ran a sponge over the counter. “Are you done?” he asked.  

Rhodey cupped Sam’s face in his warm, calloused hands. “Stay strong, Sam. We’ll only be gone for a little while.” 

“You don’t have to do this,” Sam said, his words coming out squashed because Rhodey was squeezing his cheeks. 

Luke thumped Sam’s back. “I hear daytime television is quite engrossing.” 

“Maybe you can go over the files again,” Sharon suggested. “See if you can find something we missed.” 

“Thanks, Sharon,” Sam said. 

“What?” Sharon said to Misty and Rhodey, who were shaking their heads, their upper lips curled.  

“Kiss up,” Misty said. 

“Brownnoser,” Rhodey added. 

“I don’t get you guys!” Sharon protested.  

“They’re being mean to Sam as a form of inclusion,” Victor said, grabbing a banana out of the fruit basket and tossing another to Miles. America pushed past him to get the last orange. “Teasing equals membership. Playing the dozens. Roasting. It’s just what you do to your friends.  Niceness is politeness is distance is not-friends.” 

“Yeah,” Rhodey agreed. “What Mr. Robot said.” 

Victor frowned. “You really wanna do that, _War Machine?_ ” 

Misty and Luke grinned. “Vic did not come to play with you hos,” Misty said.  

Sharon wrinkled her nose. “So when you guys call me White Girl, you’re trying to make me feel accepted?” 

“Oh no,” Luke laughed. “We just want to remind you that you’re a white girl.” 

“You guys are _really_ confusing.” 

Misty laughed. “Come on, White Girl. Don’t wanna be late on our first day.” 

The house emptied out pretty fast after that. Miles came back because he forgot his lucky pen and the Rhodey and Misty came back because Misty decided that her gold arm was too flashy and she should wear her matte black one instead. And then Sam was alone, had to find a way to occupy himself. He followed Sharon’s suggestion and opened up the files again, but he got stuck on Tatiyana and had to push the folders away. He didn’t need to be reminded that kids’ lives were at stake.  

In the early afternoon, he got a text from Steve: 

<I don’t want you to be on a mission mad at me. I’m sorry about before. Call me when you have some downtime.> 

Sam ignored the message, pretended to himself he’d circle back to it later when he was in a better headspace.  

Around 3:30, Sam started expecting his team back at headquarters, so he went into the kitchen to make a snack. He knew it would earn him some more House Dad jokes, but at least it gave him something to do.  

America, Miles, and Victor arrived at the brownstone before the adults and announced their arrival by mashing the bell to within an inch of Sam’s patience. He hurled the door open expecting a pack of wolves to be chasing them, but no such luck. 

America just said, “What took you so long?” and pushed past him into the house. 

Victor nodded hello and Miles high-fived him and said, “What’s up?” 

“Don’t you three have keys?” he asked. 

“Forgot ‘em,” America said. She ran up the stairs, sounding like a herd of teenagers rather than one. She came back down pretty soon after in a Captain America t-shirt (she seemed to own every single one that had ever been printed, even if she vehemently denied liking or respecting Steve at all; it defied logic) and shorts. She brushed past Sam and handed him his phone, which he’d left upstairs on his dresser. “It was ringing,” she muttered, before going into the living room. Steve again.  

When the four adults arrived, Sam ushered them into the kitchen. 

"So," he said, "how was everyone's day?" He placed the plate of cookies and blondies on the kitchen island. 

Misty looked at Sam's offering skeptically. "You cooked these?" she asked. 

"I'm a house parent. Of course I cooked them." 

The incredulity on Misty's face reached comic proportions before Sam sighed and said, "Fine, Tollhouse cooked them, but I put them in the microwave for 12 seconds so the chocolate chips could get all melty." 

" _There_ 's my Sam," Misty said, snatching up two cookies.  

"Julia Childs, more like," Sharon joked. When no one laughed, Sharon crossed her arms and said, "In some crowds, I am very funny.” 

Misty and Sam exchanged looks.  

"We thought it was funny," Rhodey assured her. "But it was inside-laughter funny. You know, LMAO OTI – laughing my ass off _on the insid_ _e_." 

"You guys are jerks," Sharon muttered. She grabbed a cookie while the rest of them traded amused looks.  

Luke passed on the cookies and went to the fridge for a bag of baby carrots.  

"Boo," Misty jeered. "Way to make the rest of us look bad, Lucas." 

Luke rolled his eyes. "Danny has Jessica on a no-processed food, no alcohol thing and I'm doing it to support her." 

"Yeah, but Jessica ain’t here. Have a cookie." 

"Misty, let the man eat his carrots," Rhodey said seriously. "It's the closest vegans get to real happiness." 

"I'm not vegan," Luke said, then threw up his arms because Rhodey and Misty clearly weren't listening. Misty was making a joke about eating the most nutritious dirt. 

Sam cleared his throat. "Calling this meeting to order," he said. "You guys are worse than the actual teenagers we have on this op." 

Misty shrugged, licking chocolate off her metal hand.  

"Sharon, how was your day?" Sam asked, making a face at Misty. 

Sharon sighed. "I got called a white bitch a few times. Actually, five times. I counted because I couldn't believe how many times it was happening. And not just from jaded teenagers. Two of the five times were teachers." 

"Maybe they meant it nicely?" Luke suggested. "The way you say it when Beyonce does—well anything. You know? 'Beyonce really is _that_ bitch.' People say that." 

Sharon pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. "I don't think they were saying I'm like Beyonce, Luke." 

Rhodey patted her shoulder. "You're the substitute VP. You're the brass who tells everyone what to do without being in the trenches. No one's gonna like you." 

Sharon sniffed. "That wasn't in my folder." 

Sam poured himself a cup of coffee to dip his cookie in. "Did you learn anything though? Anything new?" 

"No. No one would talk to me. Except to call me a white bitch." 

Sam noticed Misty trying not to smile. 

"What about you, Ms. Knight? Art teacher extraordinaire." 

Misty shrugged. "You know how it is. Art and gym teachers have no real authority. The kids basically look at me like a not-quite peer. Which can be good. Give me a little time and I'll crack those kids like pecans." 

"Disturbing," Rhodey muttered. 

Misty ignored him. "Today, all I did was pretend art can change the world and we made self-portraits with finger paint." She held up her metal prosthetic to show off the splattering of colors. "I did get hit on a lot. I forgot how brazenly and unrealistically confident teenage boys are." 

"Lucky," Sharon muttered.  

Everyone turned to her with identical looks of confusion. 

" _Girl_ ," Misty said. 

"Not the teenage boys, part," Sharon said. "Ew. I just mean, it's probably nicer than everyone hating you for no reason." 

Misty smirked. "White girl isn't used to getting hate for no reason. Ha. Guess when you were growing up they gave you gold stars for every blond hair on your head, huh?" 

"No," Sharon said, blushing. "I just—do you have to call me white girl?" 

"Calm down," Luke said. "Misty's only messing with you. This is Black Ops. We dig on each other a little." 

"Yeah," Misty said. "Like, Rhodey thinks I'm not about to lay into him about that Pepto Bismol shirt he's rocking." 

Rhodey lifted his chin. "I look good in pink, thank you very much." 

"Bet money Monica picked it out," Sam said. 

"And I look damn good. My wife has excellent taste." 

Luke, Sam, and Misty all laughed and started elbowing each other, saying, "My wife" and hooting.  

"Look at him!" 

"All in love." 

"Letting his wife pick out his clothes because he loves her and she has excellent taste." 

Sharon frowned. "What? Are we making fun of him for liking his wife?" 

Luke sighed.  

"It's okay," Misty said. "You'll get it." 

Sharon frowned. "Something tells me I won't." 

"Anyhow," Misty said. "I got nothing to add just now." 

"Me either," Rhodey said. "Except that English was my least favorite subject in school. And we're starting _The Scarlet Letter_ tomorrow and I'm tempted to just watch the movie." 

"You gotta take this responsibility seriously," Sam said. 

"I am. I wanna catch the bad guys and save the kids. But no one needs to know anything about books written before 1980. They're all deeply irrelevant." 

Sam sighed. "So nothing from Rhodey. Luke?" 

Luke shook his head. "Gym teachers are just recess monitors. The students and teachers don’t really respect me enough to tell me anything." 

Misty frowned. "That's not true. You had a gaggle of teachers around you at lunch." 

Luke shrugged. "They respect my biceps. They don't respect _me._ " 

"Awww," Misty said in a mean baby voice. "Lucas doesn't like being objectified." 

"Is your name really Lucas?" Sharon asked. 

Luke shook his head. "Misty loves her nicknames." 

Sam sighed. "Well, this has been entirely unproductive.” 

“It’s only Day 1,” Rhodey pointed out. 

“Is White Girl my nickname?” Sharon asked. “Because I strongly object to that.” 

“Hear that, boys? White Girl ‘strongly objects.’” 

Sam shook his head. “I'm going to go talk to the kiddos." 

He took the half empty plate of cookies into the living room. America, Miles, and Victor were all draped over the sofas watching a cartoon. Sam set the cookies on the coffee table. “Aren’t you guys a little old for this?” he asked. 

“It’s Avatar: The Last Airbender,” Miles said, like that explained everything.  

America leaned over as far as she could to drag the coffee table close enough for a cookie. The legs made a screeching noise against the hardwood that suggested SHIELD wasn’t getting the deposit back on this place.  

“Push it back,” Victor said absently, hanging over the arm of the sofa, staring at some white haired girl with huge blue eyes on the screen. 

“I really like Suki, don’t get me wrong," Miles said. "She is badass. But Yue was my girl. U totally cry when she turns into the moon.” 

“Yue is too dainty,” America said, spewing crumbs. “Toph or nothing.” 

“You would like Toph,” Miles said. 

Sam frowned, unsure if this was the beginnings of an argument.  

“I like Mai,” Victor said. He stacked two cookies on top of each other and took a big bite. 

“’Cause she’s a robot like you?” Miles asked. 

Victor sent an electro projection across the room that zapped Miles, who yelped and fell on the floor.  

“No using your powers on each other,” Sam ordered before things could escalate.  

“I get one free shot, though. Right?” Miles climbed back into his chair and threw Victor a dirty look.  

“Do it when my back is turned, so I don’t have to fuss.” 

“Cool,” Miles said.  

America pointedly turned up the sound on the TV as a kid with a burned face and a weird half bald / half ponytail hairdo trudged through the snow on-screen.  

“Can you turn that off for a sec?” Sam said. “I want to check in on what you’ve learned. We’re going to do these info dumps every day when you get home from school.” 

America sighed, long-sufferingly. “Okay. Uh, I’m in with some of the cool kids.” 

“The scary kids,” Miles corrected. 

“The scary kids are the cool kids. Plus, they break the rules, so they probably know stuff. And that’s my cover right? Leather jackets and cigarettes?”  

“Yeah,” Sam said. “Fury really played to your strengths on this one.” 

“I don’t smoke,” America said.  

“Yeah, but you definitely have a lot of aggression,” Miles pointed out.  

“I was created by an evil android bent on human annihilation and I’m not half as cynical and punch happy as you,” Victor added.  

“Is this a pile-on-America meeting or a debriefing?” 

“Sorry,” Miles and Victor said.  

“Right,” Sam said. “So you’re in with the cool kids. What have you learned?” 

“That Lauryn slept with Deon even though she knew Raykeisha liked him.” America rolled her eyes. “I’m laying down ground work right now. You can’t expect people to just hand you the clues to the big mystery right away.” 

“Your condescension is noted and unappreciated,” Sam said. “Miles, you’re up.” 

Victor laughed. “Miles didn’t do so good with his personality parameters.” 

“What?” Sam asked. “Miles, what happened?” 

“Fury wanted me to be, you know, cool or whatever. But that’s not really me. And I’m a hero, not an actor, so I can’t really be bla—” 

“He spent the whole day talking about Ganke.” 

“Ganke?” Sam asked. 

“My best friend back home.” 

“And now everyone thinks he’s gay for Ganke.” 

“What’s wrong with being gay?” America asked. 

Victor shrugged. “Nothing. Except Miles kinda got swept up in the moment and now he’s in the pride club instead of the wrestling team.” 

“He can’t do both?” Sam asked.  

Victor snorted. “Falc, we’ve come pretty far, but we haven’t come _that_ far. A gay kid on the wrestling team? Those homophobes would eat him alive. And not in a fun, gay way.” 

Sam wrinkled his nose, questioning how appropriate that last comment was between himself and a bunch of kids. He decided to ignore it. “Okay, so Miles will do recon from a different vantage point than we planned. Nothing’s too broken. How about you, Victor? You do alright?” 

“Soy el líder de los estudiantes latinos ahora. Que acabo de decir , ' Hey, yo también soy marrón ' y ahora que van a decirme todos sus secretos.” 

“I know you’re probably saying something extremely witty and sarcastic,” Sam said, “and Fury apologized for not knowing enough about you to give you a proper niche. Can you stop holding a grudge and speak a language I understand?” 

Victor sniffed. “I made a couple friends. We sat together at lunch. I didn’t say, ‘Hey, how about those missing kids. Wild stuff, right?’ It’s too soon to snoop. Like America said. Gotta lay a foundation of friendship first.” 

“Alright,” Sam said. “Keep up the…work. We’ll do this again tomorrow.” 

“No puedo esperar,” Victor said.  

“Un gasto de tiempo,” America muttered. 

Sam grabbed the plate as she reached for the last cookie. “I know you’re both being mean from your tone, but your words are wasted on me, so there.” 

Miles tilted his head. “I’m not being disrespectful in Spanish,” he pointed out. “Guess that means I get that last cookie.” 

“It does,” Sam said. He handed Miles the plate. “You’re the good one.”  

Miles beamed and America and Victor both threw pillows at him.  

*** 

The next couple weeks were more of the same. Sam sent his merry band off to school, dodged phone calls from Steve and responded to only a few texts from him – the kind that could be reasonably answered in two or three characters – yes, no, ok. Bucky and Nat were pretending like nothing was wrong, which was somehow worse than when Nat had called him out right before the mission. They sent their memes and sometimes one or the other of them called to ask if Sam knew where their throwing stars or their favorite handgun was. 

Fury and Sam had chats every week and Sam hated having to tell him that they hadn’t turned anything up yet. Fury’s grim expression made Sam feel like maybe they weren’t trying hard enough to shake the clues loose.  

“Parent teacher conferences are in two weeks,” Sam said. “If we haven’t found out anything by then, we’ll have to think of a different approach.” 

Fury nodded. “This is your op, Wilson. You know best.” 

When Sam told the team that he’d set a clock to uncover something, they were all predictably upset with him, but Sam didn’t care. Every day that they pretended to be art teachers and regular high school students was another day those poor kidnapped children were away from home.  

“We have to try harder, people. Don’t get comfortable!” 

“Yeah, because Algebra II is so comfortable,” America groused.  

“And I _love_ teaching the kiddies about _Romeo and Juliet,_ ” Rhodey said. 

“I’m purposely failing to find out what happened to those kids because I’m really starting to enjoy being called White Bitch every day.” 

“Nice,” Misty said, high-fiving Sharon, whose irritation turned into pleasant surprise at Misty’s praise.  

“Fine!” Sam said. “I get it. This isn’t fun. But it’s not supposed to be. It’s supposed to be productive. You guys need to push harder, think more creatively, sniff out leads, act like you give a damn!” 

The team glared at Sam pointedly and even he could hear how he sounded, so before Misty or Rhodey could tell him to check his attitude, he got up and went to his room. He only just kept himself from slamming the door like an adolescent.  

And as if the fates were conspiring to put Sam in a worse mood, his phone beeped and there was another text from Steve. 

 **SR** <hey. just thinking about you. hope the op is going well. everybody misses you.> 

Sam sighed. 

 **SW** <thanks, Steve. we miss you too.> 

Never mind who the “we” was in that statement. Sam watched as the ellipses showed up on the screen, but turned his phone off before he could see Steve’s follow-up. Sam had used all his emotional reserves on that one text. He picked up one of the missing kids’ files. He’d taken to leafing through them all day, memorizing their faces, their GPAs, their moms’ names. And at night, he dreamed of them, asking why he hadn’t come, why he hadn’t saved them. He couldn’t decide which dreams fucked him up the most: the ones where the missing kids accused him of failing them or the ones where he and Steve were happy together.  

*** 

The doorbell rang while Sam was dozing on the couch. He glanced at his watch. Too early for the parent-teacher conferences to be over. Probably the kids had forgotten their keys. Today was the last day the team had to find something substantial, before they had to head back to SHIELD and draw up a new plan. It wasn’t like they weren’t getting details here and there, but no one had had the breakthrough Sam was hoping for.  

He thought tonight they were due some luck. The kids were going to a birthday party for one of their classmates, their first non-school social event. Guards would be down. Secrets would be shared. Or so Sam hoped. He was going to lose his mind if everyone came home with ‘nothing today’ again.  

Sam had thought running his own op would be exciting, but it was mostly napping on the couch and watching Avatar: The Last Airbender (which had turned out to be so good, Sam was on his third rewatch. America had pointed out that Legend of Korra existed, but Sam wasn’t ready to say goodbye to the original cast just yet. And Victor saying that America and Korra were essentially the same person had been a little alarming. One America was quite enough, thank you.) 

Sam wiped the sleep from his eyes and stretched. As he approached the door, he had time to think that he was surprised America, Miles and Vic weren’t mashing the bell like hooligans. Maybe he’d actually manage to civilize them. Although the next step was obviously to get them to stop forgetting things like their keys. What if Sam hadn’t been— 

Sam swung open the door all set to give Miles and Victor a firm, big-brotherly talking-to, but they weren’t the ones standing sheepishly on the welcome mat.  

“Steve,” Sam said, surprise clearing his brain out for a second. “Um.” 

“Hi, Sam,” Steve said. He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. It was a brown leather jacket, distressed in a way that you knew it hadn’t been in a distressing situation since they took the hide off the cow. It was an expensive joint gift from Rhodey and Monica last Christmas. They had bought Sam the same jacket in gray and had tittered annoyingly when Sam grumbled that he and Steve did not need matching jackets, thank you very much. Sam swore they must have snuck into Steve’s room one night and taken his measurements because the jacket fit like a custom-made job. Sam’s did too, but he never wore it, no matter how many ‘verys’ Monica included in her emails about the very, very, very expensive Christmas gift going to waste.  

“What are you doing here?” Sam asked, sounding a lot more hostile than he’d intended.  

Steve flushed right down to the crew cut collar of his t-shirt and clutched the back of his neck. “I was in the area?” 

“Are you asking me or telling me?” Sam said, hearing himself talking like an unlikeable, English teacher, but apparently unable to stop.  

Steve winced and Sam sighed. “Sorry,” he muttered. He opened the door wider and gestured for Steve to come in. “Most everyone is at the school. Miles, America, and Victor are following a lead.” 

“On their own?” Steve asked, sounding impressed.  

“They gotta grow up some time,” Sam said, folding his arms over his chest.  

“Yeah,” Steve said, his blush darkening. “You wouldn’t have sent them if they weren’t ready.” 

“Nor would Luke, Misty, Sharon, or Rhodey.” 

The silence that followed was like gum on the bottom of an expensive shoe.  

“Pretty big op,” Steve observed. He scuffed his Converse sneaker into the plush entry hall carpet. He glanced around the foyer, not actually looking at Sam. Which was fine by Sam. It gave him an opportunity to stare at Steve, who looked much the same as usual. Why shouldn’t he? It had only been a month and besides Steve never looked tired or overworked the way normal people did. Maybe his mouth wasn’t set with its usual determination; the steely blue resolve in his eyes had perhaps softened a bit. 

“Your hair’s longer,” Sam said. 

“Nat doesn’t cut it as short as you did,” Steve blurted, seeming to pounce on this one conversational lifeline. But Sam was thrust into warm, lovely memories of running his fingers through Steve’s hair, kissing the sensitive skin at the nape of Steve’s neck, climbing into his lap and having lazy make-out sessions mid-haircut.  

Sam cleared his throat. “Lots of boots on the ground on this op. Fury’s personally involved, which is pretty rare.” 

Steve nodded. “I thought he only came in on EOW cases.” 

“It’s end-of-the-world for these kids and their families,” Sam said, again with the snappish tone he apparently had no control over.  

“Sam,” Steve said. “You said we were still friends.” His eyes seemed to be pleading with him, but Sam had no idea what for.  

“We are friends,” he said. 

Steve’s mouth twitched. “You haven’t answered any of my calls and barely any of my texts.” 

“I’ve been busy,” Sam said, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “Like you said, this is a pretty big op. And Fury’s letting me take lead and I’m not going to fuck it up because you want me to text you back.” 

“I didn’t come here to fight,” Steve said. 

“Then why did you come?” Sam demanded, knowing it was a mistake to toss the grenade back to Steve like that because Steve was going to throw himself on it and get torn to bits. 

“I miss you,” Steve said, frank and honest, and Sam swore he heard the boom! of detonation.  

“Steve—” 

“Bucky doesn’t have your sense of humor and Nat isn’t exactly winning any awards for warmth. And you’re being a little bit of a pain in the ass right this second, but you’re my favorit—” 

“Stop it,” Sam ordered, anger crackling on his tongue like pop rocks. 

“Sam—” 

“No.”  

“You don’t even know what I’m going to say,” Steve pled. 

Sam laughed. “Of course I do. You’re going to say, ‘Sam, let’s go back to the way it was. I hate that it’s weird between us. I’m sorry about before. It won’t happen again, I promise.’ You’re going to say all the right things and I’m going to take you upstairs and we’re going to forget that for half a second, one of us came to his goddamn senses and we’re going to fall back into old patterns until one of us—” 

“Sam, I love you,” Steve said, killing the rest of Sam’s speech in his throat. “I love you.” 

Sam took a step back so this he was flush with the stair banister. “Until one of us says that,” he finished quietly. “And we have to face this thing head on and see just what the fuck we got ourselves into.” 

“Sam,” Steve said. He took a step forward and Sam pressed his back into the banister so hard that the thin bars of wrought iron dug into his spine like some sort of cleverly simple but efficient torture device. But Sam would rather that pain than for Steve to close the distance between them, to try to kiss away Sam’s clear-headed reasoning like a romantic hero in some passionate love story on the big screen. 

“I know I’ve been shit at showing it,” Steve said, “and I know that it was casual at first, but…” 

Sam wasn’t listening. He didn’t want to hear it. No, he didn’t _need_ to hear it. His mind had been made up a month ago, maybe long before that. And so he let Steve’s words ping off him like a BB gun’s ammo on a suped up Marine tank and he focused on the sharp, shiny pain of the banister bars digging into his shoulder blades right where his wing pack would have sat if he were wearing it. If he had his wings, he could take off right now. It would be almost punishingly cold up there, but the sky was so dark and velvety purple this time of night. He could get lost in that freezing abyss for a while. Much preferable to this, Steve spilling his entire heart on the ground. Or putting it into a blender and handing the pitcher to Sam, knowing that none of Sam’s options – puree, grind, shred – were very good. But that was Steve. He jumped on the grenade. He leapt off the hellicarrier without a parachute. He put his heart in a blender and told you that you could press whatever button you damn well pleased.  

“Aren’t you going to say anything?” Steve asked, his brow crinkling.  

“Steve, go home.” 

“Sam—” 

“Unless you’re saying, ‘Sam, I’m going home,’ I don’t really want to hear it.” 

“You love me, Sam. I don’t know what you’re doing right now, but you love me.” Steve’s jaw tightened and he got a mulish hardness in his eye.  

“Go home,” Sam repeated.  

“What is your problem?”  

“You being here.” 

“No.” Steve shook his head. “No. I didn’t make this all up in my head. We’re real, Sam. I don’t care if we never had The Talk. We’re real.” 

“Go home.” 

“Tell me I’m wrong.” 

“Steve.” 

“Tell me I’m wrong and I’ll go. I’ll ask out the next person I see and you and me’ll forget this whole thing between us forever.” Steve crossed his arms over his chest. 

“Steve,” Sam said and now he was the one pleading.  

“Just say, ‘I don’t love you back.’ Tell me I read too much into it, that it was just sex for you, that we’re friends and nothing else. Say it.” 

“I don’t—” Sam swallowed. “It wasn’t real, Steve. It was never real.” Sam closed his eyes, but not before he saw the look on Steve’s face, that flush of hurt surprise. “It wasn’t real,” Sam said again, because maybe saying something could make it true. 

The silence was so oppressively thick, Sam could feel its weight on his eyelids, on his lips, on his skin. 

And then, “Fuck you, Sam.” Steve had lobbed the grenade back after all. “I never knew you were a coward.” 

And then he was out the door and it slammed so hard that one of the little glass panes in the top fell out and shattered all over the hardwood floors, the tinkling sound oddly cheery and fairy-like. Sam stared at the shards and glittering grit for a long while. On autopilot, he walked to the kitchen and retrieved the broom and dustpan.  


	3. Think Very Hard

Miles, Victor, and America came home before the others and they had news.  

“Should we wait for everybody?” Miles asked, rocking on his heels with excitement.  

Sam shrugged. “No, you can tell me now.” 

America flopped on to the couch. “Okay, so we already knew that the bad guys are taking teenagers, right?” 

Sam nodded. His head felt staticky or maybe like it was stuffed with thorns. He could see Miles and America’s lips moving as they traded off telling the story, but their words weren’t making it through the static. _Fuck you, Sam_ was pressing on the soft, pink matter of his brain. _I never knew you were a coward._  

You had to hand it to Steve. He was a tactical genius; he knew exactly where to hit. And it wasn’t like Sam didn’t _deserve_ it. Steve could’ve said a lot worse and Sam would’ve had it coming. Not just for being an ass this afternoon, but for letting their relationship—dalliance—thing—go on like it had. It hadn’t been fair to either of them. It had been the dumbest thing Sam had done since Riley.  

“Estás okay?” Victor asked. 

Miles and America traded looks.  

“Yeah,” Sam said, shaking his head. “Yeah, I’m fine.”  

“Well, you kinda spaced out there,” America said. “We were looking for a bigger reaction.” 

Sam frowned. “To what?” 

“To the news that without exception, all the people who were taken hung out a place called the Lenox!” 

“And that they had all very recently lost their virginity,” Victor added. 

Miles made a squeaky noise and looked down at his shoes.  

“So, we know Lil Spidey here isn’t in any immediate danger.” America laughed at her own joke.  

“How’d you find all that out?” Sam asked. 

“Doing our jobs,” Victor said. “Being SHIELD operatives.” 

Miles and America nodded and Miles said, “We handled this op!” 

Sam’s lip twitched. He liked their enthusiasm. Well, Miles was enthusiastic. America was calm in a been-there, done-that sort of way. She had been thoroughly unimpressed every other time she’d teamed up with any of the adult Avengers. Sam wasn’t sure Victor really _did_ enthusiastic, but that could have been some sort of android-prejudice on Sam’s part. He never had warmed up to Vision. Victor was very convincingly human though, from his looks to his teenage ennui to his dry sense of humor. Still, Sam couldn’t help thinking that the three teenagers in front of him were all characters in a very odd science fiction novel. Then again, since Steve ran past Sam in D.C., Sam’s whole life had been science fiction. Except for the trashy romance novel a few hours ago, which Sam very deeply wanted to forget.  

“Earth to Falcon,” Victor said, snapping his fingers in front of Sam’s face.  

“Do you need a nap?” America asked. 

“Yeah,” Sam admitted. “Probably. But first I’m gonna teach you guys how to fill out an FOU form. Field Operation Update.” 

“Ugh,” America said. 

Miles wrinkled his nose. “This sounds like a job for Mr. Computer here.” He tried backing out of the room, but both America and Victor grabbed him by his arms.  

“First,” Victor said, “Don’t call me that. Second, don’t call me that.” 

“Sheesh,” Miles said, rubbing his wrist, “let’s fill out the form so Vic can power down and upload some ‘just kidding’ software.” 

“You’re hilarious,” Victor said dryly. “ _Gilipollas_.” 

“Yikes,” America murmured. 

“I know what that means,” Miles said. 

“I was actually counting on it,” Victor said smugly.  

“From context clues,” Sam said, stifling a yawn, “I can tell it wasn’t nice. So let’s all press pause on our teenage personalities and act like SHIELD agents for a half a second. 

“Sorry,” Miles said. 

Victor and America didn’t apologize, but they at least put on their attentive faces and Sam proceeded to teach them how to make an FOU form.  

When they had drafted it to Sam’s satisfaction, he sent it to Fury and the rest of the team. 

“Okay,” he said, “There’s leftover spaghetti in the fridge and then you need to do your homework—even your homework for Rhodey—and then off to bed—or sneak out or whatever.” 

“You’d make a great dad,” Miles said with a grin.  

America tilted her head. “Or like, the slightly irresponsible uncle who gets custody of the kids while the parents are in another dimension fighting space bots.” 

Victor nodded. “You’d definitely make a great slightly irresponsible uncle.” 

“Are you guys done?” Sam asked, smiling in spite of himself. 

“Sam Wilson was a bachelor who had it all,” America said in a movie trailer voice.  

“Until one day, his niece and nephews came to stay—” 

“And turned his life upside down—” 

“Okay, I get the picture,” Sam interrupted. 

“Will Sam be able to keep his fancy job—” 

“As an architect in New York—” 

“With his wacky niece and nephews on the loose?” 

“Will Sam be able to get the girl—” 

“Or boy—” 

“Who owns the troll doll factory down the street?” 

“Will Sam learn the meaning of the word—” 

“Family?” 

“Love?” 

“Home?” 

Miles broke character first, his grin turning into a big guffawing laugh. Victor and America high-fived and Victor said in a perfectly serious voice, “I’d watch that movie.”  

Sam threw a decorative pillow at them. “Go eat and do your homework,” he said, smiling. 

The three of them dashed out of the living room and Sam heard them say, “Oh, Luke! When’d you get here?” before crashing into the kitchen like a herd of elephants.  

“How much did you hear?” Sam asked, turning to see Luke in a tie and button down.  

“Coming to a theater near you,” Luke intoned.  

Sam nodded. “Any leads? 

Luke shook his head. “Got a couple single moms’ phone numbers. And a few not-so-single moms’.” 

“Uh oh.” 

“It’s the tie,” Luke said, tugging at the knot.  

“I’m pretty sure it’s the shoulders,” Sam said without thinking. 

Luke’s booming laugh shook the living room. “Well, I can’t do anything about that, then. Jessica will just have to deal.” 

“I’m pretty sure she’s more than secure,” Sam said.  

Luke nodded. He pointed to the TV. “What game is this?” 

While Luke watched the Thursday night football game, Sam continued to quietly torture himself. _Fuck you, Sam_ on a continuous loop, visual aids provided courtesy of Steve’s hurt surprised look when Sam said he didn’t love him. _Goddddddddd_. 

About half an hour later, Misty and Rhodey came in. Luke was passed out, snoring like a fog horn while Sam stared a little listlessly at a commercial for Pontiacs. Misty and Rhodey took one look at Sam and at the same time said, “What’s wrong?”  

Sam tore his gaze away from the TV. “Just tired,” he said. “Gotta wait for Sharon to get back.” 

Both Misty and Rhodey looked unconvinced and they traded glances that really annoyed Sam.  

“Any new information?” he asked. 

Rhodey shrugged. “Tatiyana’s mom was there. She’s got two more kids – I teach both of them – and she said Tatiyana was starting to hang out with her friends more right before she disappeared.”  

"At the Lenox?" Sam asked.  

Rhodey shrugged. "What's that? A park?" 

"It's where all the missing kids used to hang." 

"Was that in our files?" Misty asked. 

"No, the kids figured it out." 

Rhodey smiled. "Nice." 

"Anyway, I'm going to wait for Sharon, then go to bed. I'm dead tired." 

"I'll wait up with you," Rhodey offered, glancing at Misty meaningfully again.  

Sam frowned. "I've got Luke's booming snores to keep me com—" 

"Luke!" Misty shouted, shaking Luke by his massive shoulders. "Luuuuuuke!!!" 

"What? I'm up. What are we fighting?" 

Misty laughed. "Come on. You're going to have a crick in your neck like nobody's business." 

Luke pushed himself to his feet, towering over Misty. "I knew you cared," he teased.  

"Won't happen again," Misty promised. "Scout's honor." 

When Misty and Luke had gone upstairs, Rhodey raised an eyebrow at Sam. 

Sam sighed. "You're gonna sit down anyway. No need to pretend to ask permission." 

"Okay," Rhodey said.  

"Don't say okay like I'm being irrational." 

"Okay," Rhodey said again. 

Sam turned off the TV and threw the remote on the coffee table where it clattered loudly.  

"Are you having a tantrum?" Rhodey asked, sounding amused. 

"No." And if Sam sounded a little petulant, well, who the fuck cared? 

"By all means," Rhodey said. "Get it all out. Tony hasn't thrown a fit in a while. I guess I miss them a little." Rhodey sat down, crossed his arms, and looked at Sam expectantly. 

Sam scowled. "Fuck you, Rhodey." 

"If Monica doesn't mind." 

Sam threw a pillow at him. 

Rhodey caught the cushion and placed it on the coffee table. "How about we just sit here and you'll be mad about whatever you're mad about and we'll wait for Sharon, okay?" 

"Fine," Sam muttered.  

"Cool."  

And they did just sit there. Rhodey didn't pry and better than that, Sam couldn't feel him _wanting_ to pry the way he would have with Misty or Bucky or his nosy ass sister. Rhodey and Sam just sat until Sharon came home, Sam steeped in his anger and Rhodey looking perfectly placid. 

"Hey guys," Sharon said, dropping her purse on the floor. It jangled and clanked mysteriously, which Sam chalked up to the general mysteries of handbags that seemed to hold infinite items for every eventuality. "Thanks for waiting up." 

Sam nodded. "Everything go alright?" 

"No more missing kids, if that's what you mean." She tucked her hair behind her ears. "But no new leads either." 

"Did you see the FOU the kids sent out?" 

Sharon shook her head and fumbled her tablet out of her bag. She scanned the document. "So I guess we go down to the Lenox then?" 

"Yeah," Sam agreed. "I think I'll go see if I can be a bouncer. The kids can check the scene at ground level." 

"I'll look into police records and ownership," Sharon volunteered. "Pull up anything on the Lenox that looks suspicious."  

"And I'll keep teaching English to ninth graders," Rhodey said brightly.  

"Still not feeling Shakespeare?" Sharon asked sympathetically.  

"We finished Romeo and Juliet," Rhodey said. "We on _Lord of the Flies."_  

Sharon and Sam grimaced.  

"Yikes." 

"Yeah," Rhodey said. "Fury must really fucking hate me." 

*** 

The next couple of days passed excruciatingly slow as Sam revisited every word he'd spoken to Steve, every twitch of Steve's face. One moment, Sam came down hard on the fact that he, Sam, was the very biggest idiot to ever walk the face of the earth; a moment later he was 100 percent convinced he'd done the right thing. Luckily, Sam couldn't be totally self-absorbed because he had an important op to run.   

When he went down to the Lenox, they didn't even run a background check on him, just said, "Sure, dude," and handed him a lanyard. So, it wasn't exactly Fort Knox.  

"We could charge them with criminal negligence," Rhodey said as they sat around the dining room table Friday morning. 

"And miss the big fish chasing a guppy," Misty pointed out.  

"We should definitely say something," Sam said. "Even if nothing nefarious is going down there, that's reckless endangerment of kids right there." Misty opened her mouth to talk priorities, but Sam raised his hand. " _But_ we'll have to sort that out post-op, give it to the follow-up crew to deal with." 

Misty grabbed Sam's outstretched hand and bit him. 

"So mature," Sam said. 

"Who's our follow-up crew?" Luke asked.  

"Agent Hill's heading it up," Sam said. "She always does good mop-up." 

"Okay," Rhodey said, "So other than their crappy hiring practices, do we have anything on the Lenox?" 

Sharon shook her head. "No police reports. Owner seems legit. A Canadian guy. Bruce Kill? It sounded familiar to me, but I didn't see anything in the SHIELD database and no red flags anywhere else. Ring any bells for you guys?" 

Sam shrugged.  

"Sort of sinister last name," Luke pointed out. "It's no Kilgrave, but it's shady." 

"It's on his birth certificate," Sharon said.  

"So, for now, we have to assume the owner isn't the problem." 

"No police incidents?" Luke repeated, shaking his head. "Not a single one? How far back did you look?" 

Sharon pulled up her research on the Holotech. "Well, the disappearances started three months ago, so I looked back a year. Figured any further back wouldn't be very useful." 

Luke tapped his chin. "This is a place where black and brown teenagers like to hang out and the police aren't creaming themselves trying to make quota? That sound right to anybody?" 

Misty shook her head. "Two black kids waiting for the bus got taken down for loitering last week. No way a bunch of rowdy teenagers doesn't cause a stir." 

"What do you think is going on?" Sharon asked.  

"I don't know," Rhodey said, sliding the Holodocs through the air and perusing them. "But something's up. Who wants to play cop? Not it." 

"Not it." 

"Not it." 

"Not it." 

"Fine," Sharon said, rolling her eyes. "I guess this is where I use my white privilege for good." 

"Didn't Fury tell you that's why you're on the op?" Misty's eyes twinkled. 

"He must've forgotten to mention it," Sharon said.  

Sam and the others exchanged looks and Sharon pouted. "I know I'm not supposed to, but I hate it when you guys do that." 

Misty laughed. "Come on, girl. Sometimes you're gonna get left out." 

"Yeah," Sharon sighed. "I'm gonna go doctor some police ID stuff. And then think of a way to casually ask why the police _aren't_ doing their jobs racially profiling kids in their city." 

"Thattagirl," Rhodey said.  

When Sharon left the room, Luke said sotto voce, "We could cut her a break." 

Another round of glances passed between them before they all screamed laughing.  

"Cut her a break!" Misty gasped.  

"We...could...cut--oh my god!" Rhodey laughed. "I can't breathe. I really can't breathe." 

Sam laughed along with everyone else, but now that mission stuff was over, the _Fuck you, Sam_ recording was increasing in volume in his head. He pressed the password key on his phone and opened the Messages app. Steve's last text: We should talk. Sam stared at the words, tried to reconcile them with _Fuck you, Sam._ Was there any middle ground between confronting everything truthfully and dismissing each other entirely? Because they sure as fuck hadn't found it yet.  

"Yo, Sam!" America yelled right next to Sam's ear.  

He jumped. 

"You're sitting on the remote and I wanna watch cartoons." 

"Don't you have school?" 

America nodded. "But I'm playing a bad girl who wears leather jackets and skips school when she feels like it. It's in my file." 

Sam didn't really feel like fighting about this. "Yeah, whatever." 

"Ask Fury," America insisted. "Oh, wait, you just agreed with me. Cool. Now can you get off of the remote?" 

*** 

Friday night, Sam and the kids walked down to the Lenox. 

Miles was extra fidgety on the way. 

"What's going on?" Sam asked.  

"I, um, might've forgotten to mention I'm not actually all that great in big social situations." 

"What?" America said in mock surprise. "You?" 

"I think he means he's bad at talking to girls," Victor said and Sam wasn't sure if Victor was trying to be helpful or using his dry humor to tease Miles.  

Miles scowled. "You would be too if—never mind." 

"What?" America asked. She bumped shoulders with Miles like a big sister who was taking a break from tormenting her younger brother. 

"There was this girl," Miles said. He looked up at the sky like someone or something was going to swoop down and get him out of this conversation.  

"What was her name?" Sam wheedled.  

"Julie." 

"And how'd you ruin it?" 

"Hero work.  

"That'll do it," Sam said. America and Victor nodded sagely.  

"That's all you got?" Miles said. "I was looking for some advice." 

"Slightly Irresponsible Uncle Sam, you're Miles's only hope," Victor said. 

"I'm the worst person to ask advice about romantic troubles," Sam said.  

"Nuh-uh," Miles disagreed. "Mr. Tin Man here is." 

Victor heaved a long-suffering sigh. "I get that these names are coming from a place of deep respect and admiration, but must we?" 

Miles and America laughed. "We must." 

Victor tried to pull Miles into a headlock, but America pulled both of them into wrestling holds that they couldn't get out of. Instead of trying to fight America, Victor and Miles started taking cheap shots at each other, while America laughed.  

"You guys are being sort of conspicuous," Sam said.  

Miles and Victor stopped tussling, but America just shrugged. "It'd only be conspicuous if you got in on the fun. Since, you know, you've got a No Fun stamp tattooed on your forehead. People would get confused." 

"Ha ha ha," Sam said. "Will you put your teammates down?" 

America released Miles and Victor.  

"Okay, just hang back here for a little while. We shouldn't arrive together." 

"I still think we're going to be too early," Victor said. "Cool kids don't show until ten, I guarantee it." 

"What do you know about the cool kids?" Miles teased. "Been admiring them from afar? Very, very afar?" 

Victor lunged for Miles and got him into a half-Nelson. America looked on, amused. Sam left them to it.  

Victor was right. The place was a ghost town at nine. Sam sat at the entry booth and played 2048 on his phone until teenagers started showing up around a quarter to ten. They mostly came in battalions of eight or nine, usually same-gender groups. The few co-ed squads were the older kids, juniors and seniors. The rules were 14 to 18 year olds and Sam had to redirect a couple twenty-somethings who insisted they had friends inside.  

"Get some older friends!" Sam yelled after them as they threw dirty looks at him. 

It was mostly black and brown kids, a few Asian kids—no white kids that Sam noticed, which surprised him. Usually, at least one or two white kids wanted to be 'down.' Vic, Miles, and America kept up a steady stream of texts and pictures. When they had been planning this earlier today, Misty had wondered if texting the whole night wouldn't raise flags and the kids had laughed like it was the dumbest question they'd ever heard.  

"If we're _not_ texting someone, it'll look suspicious. We'll be the guys with no friends." 

"And then people are wondering--" 

"Hey, why don't they have any friends?" 

"Is it because they're weirdos?" 

"With a secret?"  

"Are they undercover?" 

"Are they SHIELD agents trying to uncover the mystery of the missing teens?" 

"And boom, presto pringle--" 

"Operation blown." 

"Disaster."  

"Fury disowns us." 

"We end up on the street, doing magic tricks on the subways for a bite to eat." 

Misty rolled her eyes. "You guys should really take your show on the road." 

None of America, Miles, or Victor's texts so far had been particularly revealing. Sam learned that teenage dancing was still as overt and graphic as when he was a kid and that was about it, until just before midnight.  

 **MM** <just heard a scream from the girl's bathroom can't find america> 

 **SW** <go investigate> 

 **MM** <it's the GIRL's room> 

Sam rolled his eyes.  

 **SW** <okay, misty, you're up; girl's bathroom> 

 **MK** <roger.> 

It turned out to be a cockroach.  

 **MK** <the size of my hand but still. That kind of screaming has to be reserved for dead bodies. 

 **SW** <I seem to recall a blood curdling scream from you when you thought you'd won the lottery.> 

 **MK** <fine. Lottery wins and dead bodies.> 

 **SW** <Miles, it was a false alarm. Find America though.> 

The rest of the night was uneventful. It turned out America had gone outside to smoke with some of the 'cool kids' to see if they knew anything, but they'd taken one look at her shirt – a Captain America T that she swore up and down she was wearing ironically because the adult Avengers were a bunch of posers – and sent her packing.  

"So that was a bust," America said.  

"I got a girl's number," Miles pointed out.  

Victor whipped out his phone. "Better report that stunning success to Fury ASAP." 

"Don't be jealous," Miles said. "It might overheat your core processing systems." 

"You're hilarious," Victor intoned.  

"Just because nothing happened tonight doesn't mean this place isn't where we need to be," Sam said. "We gotta try tomorrow night, too." 

"Fine," America said. "But we can get something to eat? I'm starving." 

"Me, too," Victor added.  

"Do you think any garages are still open?" Miles asked. "We want only the best diesel for Vic." 

"Must we?" Victor asked. 

Miles and America grinned. "We must." 

"Yelp is saying there's a pizza place still open," Misty said.  

"Cool, let's go." 

They walked the couple blocks to the pizza place quietly, all exhausted from the night. 

"Whoa," Sam said when they reached the corner. He had been expecting a small window with a little sign saying "Joey's Parlor" or something, but it looked like all of the Lenox partiers had relocated here to the sidewalk in front of a large, brightly lit restaurant. Through the windows, Sam could see a bustling staff tossing dough and yelling orders. The line to the door was mostly a disorganized knot where order was enforced by how loud you could get. 

"If I was gonna snatch a kid," Misty said. 

"Yeah," Sam agreed. 

"Little Francis?" Miles said, reading the restaurant name. "This is the place Mekisha was talking about. She said the pizza was literally addictive." 

"Teenage literally or literally literally?" 

Miles shrugged. "I didn't think to ask. Oh man! Should I have?" 

Sam patted his head. "You're doing good, kid." 

Miles smiled up at him.  

"I don't think we have much a chance if anything goes down," Misty said. "Just the five of us _and_ trying not to blow our cover." 

"We could at least make sure the pizza isn't actually addictive," Victor pointed out, his stomach gurgling.  

"Yeah, okay," Sam said. "I'll stay on the perimeter. See if I notice anything. Misty, keep an eye on the k--" 

"Yeah, yeah, Sam." 

Misty and the kids plunged into the crowd. Sam pulled on his goggles and shifted to night view, hoping he just looked like a guy making an unfortunate fashion choice. It was really too crowded to make out much of anything except that there were at least two hundred kids out here, easy to lose track of one or two. He pulled out his phone and texted Sharon. 

 **SW** <Hey, what'd you find out at the precinct about the Lenox?> 

 **SC** <Most police officers didn't even remember that the place existed. Said it wasn't their beat.> 

 **SW** <Were you able to track down who should be on the Lenox?> 

 **SC** <Nope. Seems like that whole block is a dead zone. It's residential too, and there haven't been any calls out of there since about six months ago. No fires or ambulances either.> 

 **SW** <But people still live here?> 

 **SC** <On paper, they do. Maybe we should do house calls?> 

 **SW** <Yeah, maybe. Can you pull up all you can on Little Francis? It's a pizza place.> 

 **SC** <On it.> 

While Sam waited for Misty and Company to come back and Sharon to respond, he focused his goggle lenses on the shadowy corners of the square, trying to feel useful. Trying not to think about personal matters in the middle of a field assignment. It would be way too easy to get distracted and totally miss a kid getting snatched from under their noses in this loud, dark, totally unsupervised patch of city. It was weird: they already knew that the cops didn’t care that these kids were getting taken. But this seemed to go beyond just unconscious bias or racist negligence. This seemed entirely intentional. Which meant whoever was behind this had the kind of money you needed to have to essentially erase an entire city block off the map. Which was chilling, to say the least.  

 **SC** <i think we hit pay dirt> 

 **SW** <Little Francis?> 

 **SC** <owned by the subsidiary of a subsidiary of a...well, you get the picture. But the Grand Barracuda is Bruce Kill.> 

 **SW** <The Lenox guy?> 

 **SC** <Yep. And I just remembered why the name seemed familiar. Killebrew.> 

 **SW** <That's the scientist who tortured Wade Wilson and gave him his powers, right?> 

 **SC** <I don't think he did it personally, but yeah, he owned the lab> 

 **SW** <But he's dead> 

 **SC** <Looks like he inspired a copycat.> 

 **SW** <Who couldn't think of a better name? It's like these guys want to get caught> 

 **SC** <It gets worse.> 

 **SW** <Of course it does> 

 **SC** <Bruce Kill – real name still unknown – has a lot of stock in AIM. Like, a lot of stock. It's well hidden, but he basically owns the place.> 

 **SW** <I thought Tony discredited them after Killian.> 

 **SC** <Stock took a dip, but they've done some fantastic PR.> 

 **SW** <Shit.> 

 **SC** <Yeah.> 

 **SW** <Black and brown kids go missing and our one clue is evil scientist who likes to experiment on the unwilling and has access to AIM technology.> 

 **SC** <That about sums it up.> 

 **SW** <Fuck. Okay. Start the FOU. We'll be there soon.> 

 **SC** <Got it.> 

Misty and the others came out of the throng about fifteen minutes later, polishing off greasy slabs of pizza.  

"Bad news," Sam said in greeting.  

"What?" 

"We're fighting a crazed, lunatic scientist." 

"Again?" 

Miles shook his head. "All these villain scientists are giving scientists a bad name." 

"Hashtag Not All Scientists," Misty said wryly.  

"It's no wonder this country is so proudly anti-intellectual," America said. "All the geniuses are terrorizing the laypeople." 

"Catch us up," Misty ordered, offering Sam a bite of her pizza—green peppers and pepperoni.  

Sam finished chewing (and yeah, it was pretty fantastic pizza) and started: "How much do you know about Deadpool's origin story?" 

*** 

"So, we know the alias of the guy we're fighting, but we still don't know where he is or exactly what he's doing to the kids he's already abducted. That sound about right to everyone?" 

Sam scowled.  

"Thanks, Rhodey. That summary really made everyone feel better." Misty kicked his chair and leaned her head back into Sam's lap. She was lying on the sofa, her head and shoulders on Sam and her legs draped over Luke. Rhodey and Miles had the armchairs, Victor and America were both lying on the floor, pretending to be engaged in the conversation but clearly dozing off, and Sharon was sitting cross-legged on the coffee table. They'd been up all night, sifting through documents, making uninformed plans and scrapping them, throwing out shit-theories and yelling each other down. Everyone was cranky, except maybe Luke, who was really hard to provoke, it turned out. He was like a muscly wall of tranquility.  

"All I'm saying," Rhodey said, "is that it's four in the morning and we know the same shit we knew at one and I'd like to go to bed now." 

"Me, too," Sharon agreed. "I'm dead, guys." 

"Come on," Sam said. "I think we're close." 

"Close to an aneurysm," America grumbled from the floor.  

"We're going to figure this out," Sam insisted. 

Misty snorted. "You got psychic powers you forgot to mention or are you going on blind faith?" 

"I'm the point person on this thing," Sam said, "and I think we should try to prioritize these kids over our own comfort." 

"Bullshit," Rhodey said. 

Sam frowned. "Excuse me?" 

"I'm calling bullshit. You're not more worried about these kids than any of us. And you're not going to insinuate that anyone in this room – all of whom, mind you, have been up for close to twenty hours – wants a comfy bed more than they want to do their job." 

"I--" 

"But we've been going through the same scant information for three hours and turning up nothing. So, if you want to sit down here and go through every Holofile and find something that Victor – HUMAN COMPUTER – couldn't find, be my damn guest." 

Rhodey pushed out of the armchair. "Miles. Victor. America. Go to bed." 

Miles glanced at Sam. "Sorry, Falc. I'm beat." 

Sam waved away his apology. "Go to bed, guys. Everybody." 

"And you?" Misty asked. 

"I'm just gonna chill for a bit," he said. He closed his eyes. 

Luke patted Sam's shoulder. "Danny wouldd have some wise quote about self-reflection and all that. So, um, insert, Danny quote here." 

Sam sighed. "Thanks, Luke." 

Misty's voice was sleepy as she said, "You should probably keep a couple Danny-isms in your wallet for times like this." 

Sam didn't hear Luke's response as the pair went upstairs. Everyone touched Sam's shoulder on their way out. America might have punched him, though. Her comfort was as heavy handed as Luke's. When just about everyone had shuffled past, Sam sighed.  

"I know you're still here, Rhodey." 

"What's upstairs you don't want to deal with?" He asked. 

"Nothing." 

Rhodey exhaled. "Okay, we're going to do the whole routine. I was hoping we'd skip right to the grand finale." 

"Rhodey, go to sleep," Sam begged.  

"You think I wanna do this?" Rhodey asked, sounding amused. "Sam, the last thing I want to do at this exact moment is talk about you and Steve, but you've been in a bad mood for a month and I think your personality might get stuck without an intervention." 

"I haven't been in a bad mood," Sam said. 

"Well, the other options aren't good," Rhodey replied. "Either you took a massive level in dickery without telling anyone or the face snatchers got you and you're not really Samuel Thomas Wilson after all." 

"Rhodey," Sam groaned. "Do we have to do this now?" 

"You were happy to keep beating the shit out of a dead horse until sunrise. This shouldn't be too much more taxing." 

Sam sighed and pulled at the buttons on one of the sofa pillows. "How do you know about Steve?" Sam asked. 

"Steve told Bucky. Bucky told Misty (bionic arm buds). Misty told Monica who told me. It was all very childish." 

"Okay," Sam said, opening his eyes. "Say what you need to say." 

Rhodey pressed his palms together. "You made some decisions," he said slowly, "that if I were in your situation, I wouldn't have made." 

"So _now_ you're being diplomatic?" 

"What do you wanna me to say? That you fucked up?" 

"Yes." 

"Don't you already know that?" 

"Yes." 

"Then why do you want me to say it?" Rhodey took a seat on the coffee table and looked Sam square in the face, not giving him an inch of wiggle room.  

Sam sighed. "I don't know." 

"I think you do know," Rhodey said. "I think you have a very good idea why you need me to berate you right now." 

"I don't know what you're talking about," Sam muttered.  

"Are you sure, Sam? Think very hard. What does this exact situation – you needing me to hit you over the head with a hammer about how bad you fucked up – have in common with the original fucked up thing you did telling Steve you didn't love him when everybody in the world knows how you feel about him." 

"I don't know," Sam shouted. He pressed his face into the pillow. 

"You're punishing yourself, you idiot." 

Sam concentrated on the waffle print weave of the cushion fabric. "What?" His voice came out muffled.  

"Classic self-destructive bullshit. Tony does it all the time. It's why he and Pepper are always on and off again. And honestly, both of you owe me money for my time and emotional labor on your behalf." 

"Punishing myself for what?" Sam asked, peeking from behind the pillow. 

"I don't know," Rhodey said. "But whatever it is, I can guarantee that fucking shit up with Steve won't make you feel better, it won't absolve you, and it just makes you look like an asshole. Now, I'm going to bed and you're going to do some soul searching and figure your shit out before it's too late." 

Sam grabbed Rhodey's wrist before he could leave. "Sorry, Rhodey. And, um, thanks." 

"Like I said, you owe me money." But Rhodey smiled as he said it and squeezed Sam's hand.  


	4. I Want Your Fool Ass To Be Happy

The next afternoon – everyone had slept in after the long night – they got Fury on the Holotech wall. 

"Sir," Sam said, finishing off their update, "it's becoming clear that the only new information we're going to get is if Bruce Kill and AIM take another child." 

"You can't dangle Manchas, Chavez, and Morales?" 

Sam smiled, calculating the costs of his next words. "They're virgins, sir." 

Miles made a little yelping nose and Victor cleared his throat. America looked completely unfazed.  

Fury frowned. "Put surveillance on the Lenox and Little Francis, and Sharon, try seeing if you can get anything else out of the police about why that block is dark on their radar." 

"Yessir." 

"And you have my okay on whatever equipment you need. And if more muscle is required, I've put Rogers, Barnes, and Romanoff on stand-by." 

"Thanks, Fury," Sam said, ignoring the jump in his chest at Steve's name. 

Fury nodded. "Let's bring those kids home." The hologram cut out.  

"Okay," Sam said. "Luke and Misty are going to go put up cameras today and then everyone has the night off. We've been working hard and um, I'm proud of the team." 

"Awww," America said.  

"Bring it in, bring it in." Miles opened his arms for a hug.  

Sam rolled his eyes and embraced Miles. America got in on the action and lifted both Sam and Miles off the ground, not letting them down until Sam threatened to tell Steve that America secretly respected him.  

"If we're off the clock," Misty said, "I'm drinking wine. A lot of wine. Come on, Luke. Let's go wire those buildings. Everyone deserves to see me drunk." 

"It's true," Luke agreed.  

"Thanks, babe." Misty hipchecked Luke. "We should be done in an hour and then it's Wine City for me. I'll get a case of Capri Suns for the kiddies." 

Sam laughed. "Hear that, kiddies? Capri Suns." 

Victor wrinkled his nose. "We're gonna go walk around the neighborhood." 

"We'll pick up some juice boxes at the convenience store," Miles added.  

"Okay," Sam said. "Be careful." 

America waggled her fingers. "See ya, See-oos." 

"What? What does that mean?" 

"S-I-U-S," Victor spelled out. "Slightly Irresponsible Uncle Sam." 

"We know how much SHIELD likes their acronyms," America added. 

Sam nodded. "Right. See-oos it is." He waved the kids good-bye. 

"I heard it means they like you if they give you a nickname," Sharon said when they were gone.  

"Yeah?" 

"Oh yeah, I got called the White Devil at school yesterday. Those kids _love_ me." 

Sam snorted. "Sorry, Sharon. That's not funny."  

"No, it is," Sharon admitted. "It's okay to laugh. Rhodey cried in the teacher's lounge when I told him and Luke was the worst, because he tried not to laugh and ended up snorting orange juice out of his nose." 

"You could spin it into your brand if you ever went dark side. The White Devil." 

Sharon wrinkled her nose. "I think I'll stick with the good guys for a while." 

"Good," Sam said. "We're glad to have you, even if you are a white chick." 

Sharon smiled. "Who put you in such a good mood?" 

"Wha--? Nobody. Did it seem like I've been in a bad mood all this time?" 

"Buddy," Sharon said. "Misty and I had a bet on when you were going to literally bite off one of our heads.  Just totally unhinge your jaw and go for it."  

Sam groaned. "Do I owe everybody an apology?"  

"Giving us the night off is probably good enough." 

Sam patted the sofa inviting Sharon to sit with him. He threw his arm around her shoulder. "So, White Devil, what do you have planned?" 

Sharon elbowed him in the ribs. "I'll probably video chat with Nat, Steve, and Bucky. Maybe get drunk with Misty. Wine City sounds amazing." 

"I hear Wine City is just one stop over from the Beer Garden," Sam said. 

Sharon leaned into him. "I hear they even have visiting hours. But before we get good and wasted, do you want to be on the video call with me?" 

"With Steve? With Steve and Bucky and Nat?" Sam's voice had gone all funny. 

"Yeah..." Sharon said, frowning at him. 

"Nah," Sam said, "I should probably start planning next steps." 

"You sure? You should take the night off too, you know." 

"I'm good." Sam pulled his arm free and stood up. 

"Okay, I'll tell everyone you say hi." 

"You don't have—I mean, yeah, okay. Yeah. Do that and yep, we're good. Okay. Yep." 

"Are you broken?" Sharon laughed. 

"Hahaha. Only a little. Badabing. I'm gonna—I'm just have to—Check you later! Do they still say that?" 

"Does _who_ still say that?" 

"It doesn't matter. You'll do your call. You will or won't—doesn't matter—tell everyone I say hi. I'm just gonna--" 

"Hey Sam!" Rhodey called from upstairs.  

"Oh thank god," Sam breathed. He winced at Sharon before literally running up the stairs and away. 

"I've got Mon on the phone," Rhodey said when Sam skidded to a stop in front of his room. He tossed his cell phone to Sam.  

Sam caught it but threw Rhodey a why-would-you-do-that look. 

"Hey Lieutenant," Sam said. 

"I got three words for you, Sam," Monica said. 

"Okay."  

"Don't. Be. Stupid. And if I were there, I would have flicked you on the nose between each word.  

"Monica," Sam said, "Rhodey already yelled at me last night. " 

Rhodey grinned and nodded, like a tattletale watching the teacher chastise the troublemaker. "Sure did, babe," he said loud enough for Monica to hear.  

"As well he should have," Monica said. "You've loved that white boy since the day I met you and probably well before that." 

"Mon--" 

"Are you a ranking officer with the New Orleans Harbor Patrol?" 

"No," 

"Then you don't get to interrupt me." 

Sam groaned as his stomach started to tighten the way it did when he was a kid on the receiving end of a lecture from his mother. 

"You deserve to be happy, Sam, and I'm not going to let anyone – especially not you – get in the way of that. If I have to get on a plane, find you, and smack some sense into you my goddamn self, I will! All I want is another couple to do things with, Sam. But it is impossible with our hero work to find normal couples and Rhodey and I can't seem to agree on anyone in the damn Avengers. Rhodey likes Natasha and Sharon but he doesn't like Bucky. (Plus Natasha's still mad at me for betting that the Dora Milaje could kick her ass). Tony and Pepper are probably never getting back together, which, I mean, good riddance for Pepper. The man didn't deserve her, but that leaves Rhodey and me in a fix. Sue's great, but Reed ss a know-it-all asshole. Vision and Wanda give me the creeps. Claire broke up with Murdock (as she should have) and now he's dating his secretary, but she doesn't know he's Daredevil, because Murdock lives for drama (no matter what _he_ says on the issue; he's as stupid as you, honestly.) T'challa lives in Wakanda, if you will remember, and I still haven't met his stunning wife and I have no idea when they'll be in the states. It will probably require an apocalypse or a diplomatic incident. Either way, they won't go to Red Lobster with me and Rhodey, will they? And I love Wade and Vanessa, but you literally cannot take them anywhere. Wade won't take off the mask and Vanessa is sucking him off under the table half the time. Like they didn't get any home-training, which if you asked either of them, they didn't." 

"Mon, take a breath." 

"I'm breathing just fine, Samuel Wilson. And don't interrupt me. I don't know what you said to that white boy and I sure as hell don't know why, but you're going to get your house in order or I'm going to kick your ass up and down Harlem, Brooklyn, all of DC, New Orleans, and Atlanta. Do you understand me? 

"Mon, I don't thin--" 

"Don't _think_. Understand. 

"I don't _understand_ how me getting together with Steve because you want couple friends is even remotely the origin story I want." 

"I want your fool ass to be happy," Monica shouted, "but since you put yourself last every goddamn time you get the opportunity--" 

"You do realize the phone does all the work and you don't have to yell?" 

"Dangerous move," Rhodey said admiringly. 

"Samuel, that is strike one," Monica said, her enunciation crisp and intimidating. "And we're not playing baseball. You get ONE strike." 

"Sorry," Sam sighed. He leaned against the door frame.  

"I forgive you," Monica said at a more reasonable volume. "You're in a lot of pain because you're an idiot." 

Sam nodded. Monica always was very no-nonsense and direct. She said exactly what she meant every time and was actually terrible at spy work because of it. She was too candid, but it did give her advice a lot of weight. 

"I already admitted that I fucked up," Sam said. 

"Baby, you fucked up big time." 

"But I can't talk to Steve. I can't even apologize to him until I know what my problem is. Because if I don't deal with that--" 

"You're gonna fuck it up again and again." 

"Yeah," Sam sighed.  

"Well, you know me. I'm not so good with the psychobabble stuff. That's your territory, but you figure it out quick before Steve's hurt gets the best of him." 

"Yes, ma'am."  

"That's what I like to hear," Monica said. "Now, put my man back on." 

"Bye, Mon." 

"Bye, Sam. And remember, don't be stupid."  

Sam handed the phone back to Rhodey. 

"She took you to church?" He asked, his bright, white smile flashing. 

"Yeah," Sam admitted. "You got a real good one, Rhodey." 

Rhodey's smile softened. "Don't I know it," he murmured. 

Sam left them to it, afraid he might overhear some horrible, lovey-dovey stuff he'd need therapy to exorcise from his brain.  

He went to his room and sat on his bed, tried to think. But how to force your brain to explain it's self-sabotaging ways? What did he need to punish himself for? What did he feel guilty about? Ugh. Approach that with caution. Sam always had taken on way more guilt than he needed to. It probably came with the hero territory. Steve blamed himself for Bucky. Thor blamed himself for Loki. Sam was sure that somewhere deep, deep, _deep_ down, Tony blamed himself for Sokovia, even if he did keep saying that he had just been trying to save the world. And Tony certainly blamed himself for Rhodey, had spent a year working on the tech that would let Rhodey walk again to absolve himself a little. 

Sam had been blaming himself for shit since his dad died trying to preach to gangs up in Harlem. If Sam hadn't been running with that crowd, his dad would have stayed in the church where he belonged and Sam's mama wouldn't be alone.  

Sam had only accumulated more guilt since then. All the failed relationships. Riley. Rhodey falling. And probably some more stuff in between and since. But Sam couldn't figure what any of that had to do with Steve.  

He had broken things off with Steve because he hated the uncertainty, because he hated how mixed up he got. When he thought he wanted something serious, his brain rose up with every commitment phobia on the books. And when he said, _Okay, casual then_ , he had to wonder if he was just using Steve, if Steve was going to leave him for someone who could handle the long haul of relationships. It was better to have nothing than that turbulent, stomach-churning flip-flopping. Sam wasn't a wishy-washy kind of guy. He made up his mind and stuck to his guns. He wasn't stubborn like Steve, but he was decided. He left the military with the same commitment that he'd joined Steve against Hydra. He'd been against the Accords from jump; he'd been in favor of Fury taking over the Avengers team again immediately. Sam didn't sit on the fence. It wasn't comfortable and it was a terrible strategic position. But with Steve...with goddamn Steve.  

And now Rhodey was saying that the true root of Sam's problem wasn't any indecisiveness; it was good, old-fashioned self-sabotage. Which Sam wanted to say was ridiculous, but it did ring true. Why else would he look at the happiness Steve brought him and so callously throw it all away? Who was he helping here? 

He sighed. Enough introspection for a few hours. Maybe some of Misty's wine would loosen the right thoughts in Sam's head. He wasn't going to force an epiphany lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling.  

He went downstairs and listened for Sharon. He couldn't hear her, so he walked slowly into the kitchen. He really didn't want to pass through the background while she had Steve on video chat.  

"Sam!" Sharon called. "Come here." 

 _Shit._  

Sam trudged into the living room and tried not to look fiercely uncomfortable. 

"Hey," he said. 

"Nat and Steve had to go, but Bucky wanted to say hi." 

Sam smiled, relief like a warm bath washing over him. "Oh!" He slid behind Sharon and made a face at the screen.  

Bucky scrunched his nose. "I didn't think I'd ever miss that face," he said. 

"Yeah, well, I'm beautiful." 

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, kiddo." 

Sam rolled his eyes. Bucky really loved to bring up that he was much older than Sam and thus wiser, smarter, and qualified to call him 'kiddo.' 

"How've you been?" He asked.  

Bucky pushed his hands through his hair. "I was just telling Sharon that Nat and I have been trying to keep Steve from starting a war. He has been the biggest grouch since you left. Who knew you kept him on an even keel?" 

"I already know you know, Bucky." 

"Know what?" Sharon asked.  

"Nothing," Sam said. "But I know what you're doing, Buck. And I'm working some shit out. Don't tell Steve I said that. But I guess I'm sorry you and Nat have been playing babysitter." 

"I demand to know what's going on," Sharon said. "This isn't a black people thing you can keep me out of." Sam raised his eyebrows and Sharon blushed. "Was that racist? That sounded racist. I'm sorry." 

Sam laughed. "I wouldn't say it was racist, per se. But it was definitely worthy of some side-eye." 

Sharon flushed brighter. "I was trying to tell Bucky and Nat and Steve about how there's stuff that white people can't be a part of, even if we're friends with a black person or other person of color, because we are members of the oppressing group. Like the way all of you were making jokes about white people that first night...But I don't think I did it well." 

"Aw," Sam said, rubbing Sharon's shoulder. "That's more than most white people would do." 

"That's my girl," Bucky said. "Always trying to be a good person." 

Sam made the mistake of looking at Bucky as he said this and wanted to vomit. He forgot how gross Bucky was over Sharon. Bucky liked to joke that he fell in love with her when she and Nat double-teamed him after Zemo said the trigger words. ("Underneath all the brainwashing, of course.") Nat and Sharon had decided to go on a date with Bucky a few months after he came off cryo (and after egregiously flirting with the both of them) to see if he could fit into their romantic lives and they'd all been grossly in love ever since. Sam didn't really understand polyamory all that well, but these three made it look alright. They all had very distinct and different relationships with each other (Bucky and Sharon were rom-com cute, Bucky and Nat were spy-thriller sexy, Nat and Sharon were independent film smart) but together they were an eccentric trio that made you believe in love. 

"Alright, let's not congratulate Sharon for being decent. And stop doing goo-goo eyes while I'm in the room." 

Sharon and Bucky laughed and Bucky said, "You could be doing goo-goo eyes, too." 

Sam huffed. "Is today Give Sam Romantic Advice Until His Eyes Bleed Day? Because you'd think I would have got the memo." 

Sharon rubbed his arm. "You're getting all worked up. I thought you were in a good mood." 

"I _am_ in a good mood. Your stupid boyfriend always puts me in a bad mood. Ripping out steering wheels and running away to Romania and getting me put in a jail under the ocean. Calling me kiddo." 

Bucky smirked and Sharon wrapped her arms around Sam's waist. "He's sorry, right?" 

Bucky laughed. "Not even a little bit." 

Sam had to hold his breath until Sharon let go. Her shampoo smelled just like Steve's.  

"I'll let you and Bucky get back to your love fest," he said a little stiffly.  

"Oooh," Bucky said. "You should take me upstairs where we can be alone." 

Sam grimaced as Sharon bit her lip to keep from grinning like an idiot.  

"Just go," Sam said.  

*** 

After Sharon left, Sam made himself some lunch—bacon on toast, lots of bacon on toast. Natasha always teased him for leaving the LT out of his BLT sandwiches and Sam always said that the lettuce and tomato were just for people who didn't want to own their terrible dietary decisions. Sam didn't half-ass his bacon consumption.  

He smiled as he was hit with a memory. He and Steve had never spent the night at each other's houses before; they'd left that line uncrossed, but sometimes after morning run sex, they'd cook a whole pack of bacon together, foregoing the toast entirely. The bread was just a means to an end, anyway. One time, Steve had been overseeing the bacon shirtless and a pop of grease had splashed his stomach and he had whined until Sam kissed it better. And then Steve had grinned and said, "Since you're down there..." 

Sam smiled, turning the bacon over with his fork. 

"Whatcha thinking about?" Misty asked, surprising him. 

"When'd you get here?"  

"Just now. Looks like you're going to take that bacon to bed with you." 

"What kind of wine did you get?" 

Misty grinned. "A very expensive bottle to start. Then pink moscato because at some point you stop appreciating the difference between the good stuff and cheap stuff, right?" 

"Right," Sam said. "Pour me a glass of the cheap stuff. I can _never_ tell the difference." 

"I'll even put a straw in it," Misty said.  

An hour later, everyone but Sam was completely sauced. Sam had had his one glass – imbibed with a crazy straw, yes – but he'd wanted to concentrate while they played Spades because for once, he wanted to shove Misty's face in defeat. Unfortunately, he and Sharon were on the same team, so he had to make up for her inexpertise and Luke and Misty had been partners in Spades as long as Sam had known them. They had good rapport. Rhodey tried to help Sharon out, but as he got drunker, his advice got worse and worse until Sam had to beg him to stop helping. Misty and Luke had won every hand and they were taking big, generous gulps of cheap wine with every trick they took. When Sam or Sharon lucked into taking a trick, they made Misty and Luke take another gulp, but their success rate was unhindered by their inebriation. 

Sam didn't think he was generally that competitive. He was a pretty chill guy. But when it came to playing against Misty, he turned ever so slightly manic. And Misty didn't help. She was the smuggest winner on the planet. It was funny: people used to think they had romantic tension because they got under each other's skin so well, but as it turned out, they were just siblings separated at birth. At the SHIELD Christmas party last year, Sam had actually threatened to strangle Misty with her own intestine after she won a game of Uno drunk off her ass on Henny and Steve had raised an eyebrow in concern until Misty jumped on Sam's back and demanded that he admitted he loved her, her bionic arm pressing on his windpipe. They had wrestled like children until Fury came into the room holding a glass of grapefruit juice and shaking his head slowly. Misty had said (not as quietly as she thought), "Uh oh, Dad's mad," and Fury had laughed, surprising everyone. Shortly after, Steve had pulled Sam into the kitchen that the caterers had just abandoned for the night and they'd done things on the counters that made Sam hope to goodness the cleaning staff used bleach. 

"I think that's your phone," Luke said, kicking Sam's shin. The tri-tone bleeped again. 

"I'm getting a text, too!" Sharon giggled, reaching for her phone and dropping it on the floor. "Whoopsies!" 

Sam dug around for his phone. The message was from Victor.  

 **VM** <on truck with abducted teen. Saw a girl being taken and america jumped in truck after. Miles and I followed. We have subdued kidnappers in the back, but drivers still driving; don't think they know we're in here. Need back up. Now.>  

"I want cotton candy," Misty yelled, hitting Luke's thick arms over and over. "I'm a grown ass woman and I want cotton candy." 

Rhodey petted Sharon's head. "I used to think white girl hair was like cobwebs. But yours is okay." 

Sam looked back down at the text message again. "Shit." 


	5. Tatiyana

"I gave them the night off," Sam said to a glowering Fury hologram. "It's my fault." 

"I'm not debating that, Wilson. I'm debating why I put you as point person in the first place." 

"Sir--" 

"Save it. I'm sending Rogers, Barnes, and Natasha. They're tracking Victor's software now." 

Sam gritted his teeth. "Are you giving them my op, sir?" His face was flushing hot with anger at himself. 

"I should," Fury said. "But you're gonna track down your team members and get them to safety. And if you really want to impress me, you'll save all those kids while you're at it." 

"Yes, sir," Sam said. 

"Is Dad mad at us?" Misty yelled from the other room, loud and clearly drunk.  

Sam closed his eyes.  

"Do you know she sent me a Father's Day card this year?" Fury asked, losing his stern bearing for a moment.  

"Yeah," Sam said. "She made me go pick it out with her. Took her four hours." 

Fury did that almost-smile. "I thought it was a very good choice. I especially liked the pop-up feature." 

"I thought that was risky," Sam said, smiling. 

Fury stroked his chin. "I made a good choice picking you, Sam. I don't doubt that you can handle this. Good leaders make do with what they have. And you have a room full of drunk heroes, some impulsive teenagers with superpowers, and a mad scientist with a lot of money. What are you going to do?" 

"I'm gonna go save them, sir."  

"Good answer." 

*** 

Sam hurried upstairs and suited up. When he came out of his room, he stumbled over Sharon, who was hopping around on one foot in the hallway, trying to force her long limbs into her white jumpsuit. She and Sam crashed into each other and knocked foreheads.  

"Dammit, Sharon! What are you doing?" 

"I'm coming with you!"  she slurred. "Just gotta get suited up. The legs are really hard." 

"That’s because those are the arms," Sam said. He pulled Sharon's foot out of her sleeves and pushed her on to her butt. He pressed down on her shoulder to keep her there.  

"I gotta help," Sharon said. 

"You gotta sober up, babe. Bucky and Nat will kick my ass if I let you go out in the field this sauced up." 

"I can still fight," she insisted.  

"Sharon, you can't put on your clothes." 

She smiled and patted Sam's hand on her shoulder. "That's my secret. This suit is always hard to get into. I just look really hot in it." 

"You do look good in the suit," Sam agreed. 

"I seduced Natasha in this suit. Sometimes, Bucky likes it when--" 

"No!" Sam said loudly. "No thank you. Go tell Misty. She loves hearing this kind of stuff." 

"Actually, Misty told Bucky how to do this thing with his arm--" 

"Sharon, please," Sam begged. "Even if America and the boys hadn't gotten themselves into trouble, I wouldn't want to hear this." 

"Right, yeah, sorry. Can you help me up?" 

Sam lifted Sharon to her feet. He stepped back into his room and grabbed the first t-shirt he could find, came back out and pulled it over Sharon's head so she wasn't just in her bra and underwear. He kicked her jumpsuit into his room. "Let's go hang out with Misty," he said. 

"And Luke and Rhodey."  

"And Luke and Rhodey," Sam agreed. He escorted Sharon down the stairs, basically carrying her the last four or five steps to expedite the process.  

Misty's cloud of curls popped up from the other side of the sofa. "Sammy!"  she cried. "What did Dad want?" 

Sam pushed Sharon into an armchair. "He wants the four of you to hydrate and sober up." 

Misty wrinkled her nose. "Party pooper. It's our night off." 

Sam grimaced. Rhodey, Luke, and Misty would all be pissed with themselves tomorrow for missing the fight, and they would be extra mad if Sam didn't tell them about the fight at all. But Sam didn't have the time to convince each of them individually that they were too drunk to come. He made a call. "Yeah, don't let Fury poop on the party!"  

"Ay!" Luke yelled, holding up a bottle of Hpnotiq that Sam had to guess Misty had bought. Hpnotiq really didn't seem like Luke's drink. 

"Alright," Sam said, "I'm going out for a while. Luke, Misty, don't take all Sharon's money. Play Go Fish or something." 

"Why do you have your wings?" Rhodey asked.  

"No reason," Sam said, edging toward the door. 

"Wait," Sharon said. She sprang out of the armchair and grabbed her purse off the coffee table. She rummaged around until she came up with her tablet. "You can track Victor on this," she said.  

Rhodey and Luke frowned, sensing something was up. "Sam?" 

"I really gotta go, guys. Every other drink should be a glass of water, okay?" 

"Party pooper!" Misty shouted.  

Sam reached for the doorknob behind him. "That's me. Pooper of parties."  

He was out the door before Rhodey or Luke's drunk brains could put two and two together.  

He opened Sharon's tablet and scrolled through half a dozen systems, looking for any kind of tracking software. Sharon had entirely too much data on this thing and what was impressive is that she seemed to know where and what everything was. Sam lifted up a Holofile and hoped to goodness the voice commands weren't coded to Sharon. Sometimes SHIELD security was a little too aggressive and shit went boom.  

"Track Victor," he enunciated.  

"Tracking the android Victor Mancha," a cool, robotic voice said. "Android Victor Mancha emits a frequency of..." 

The tablet started listing a string of numbers and attributes that meant nothing to Sam. He waited for a HoloMap to unfold. When it did, Victor appeared as a green dot moving north, probably forty miles away already and still moving. Sam glanced at Luke's motorcycle, but he could just about imagine how hard Luke would punch him tomorrow if he not only wasn't invited to a fire fight, but his motorcycle had been commandeered and possibly destroyed. Sam didn't have a good record with vehicles in action (you could blame Bucky for a lot of the damage, though. Before  Sam met Bucky, he had a perfect driving record. Perfect.)  

Sam pulled on his goggles and synced up the HoloMap on his view. He unfurled his wings and looked up at the late afternoon sky.  

"Engage Stealth," he ordered. 

"Engaging Stealth." 

Sam looked down at himself to make sure the illusion was working. It wasn't very sophisticated cloaking device, but as long as no one knew they should be looking for him in the sky, he'd be alright. He looked up and down the sidewalk. A Hispanic family was coming up fast – a dad pushing a stroller and holding the hand of his daughter. Sam backed up to the fire hydrant and then ran to the corner of the street. He launched into the air and immediately felt the grabby hands of the wind pushing and pulling him. He flew straight up, ignoring how fast it went from chilly October afternoon to frigid Arctic pain. (Note to self: buy more thermals).  

Sam lined his flight course up with the HoloMap's trajectory for Victor and took off, hoping to goodness that America, Miles, and Victor could hold off doing another stupid thing until he arrived. If they were lucky, Bucky, Nat, and Steve could just turn right back around to DC and let Sam and the kids handle everything.  

Sam rolled his eyes. He was being childish. All help was welcome if it saved the lives of the missing teenagers. He switched his comms on and started searching the SHIELD wavelengths.  

"This is Falcon for the Captain, the Soldier, and the Spy. Falc to Cap, over." 

"Sam," Natasha's voice came through. "I've missed you, little birdie." 

"Absence makes the heart go fonder," Bucky chimed in. "Although in my case, it was an 'Out of sight, out of mind' situation." 

"Don't listen to him," Natasha said. "He went out and bought one of your action figures, he's missed you so much. He has on more than one occasion during sex said, 'I wonder what Sam is up to?'" 

Sam laughed. "Even if that's not true, let me have it." 

"It's _not_ true," Bucky said. "Nat is twisting facts. I bought the action figure for a charity giveaway. And the sex thing is just—you know—sometimes—you can't help errant thoughts—and they don't mean--" 

"It's okay," Sam said, taking mercy on Bucky, "I've missed you, too, asshole." 

"Hear that, Steve?" Bucky said. "You owe me fifty." 

"For what?" Sam asked. 

"You called him a name within a minute of getting on line," Steve said.  

Sam's heart clenched. Steve's voice was right here in his ear, as intimately close as if they were in the same room.  

Sam cleared his throat. "I think we split the moolah sixty/forty, Buck-O. I did all the work." 

"Not a chance, Birdbrain." 

"Been working on that one since you left," Natasha joked. "Woke up in the dead of night and shouted, 'Birds have small brains and Sam is dumb.'" 

"When will this assassination of my character end?" Bucky groaned. 

Sam laughed. "Right now, I think. We've got a mission to get Chavez, Morales, and Mancha out of enemy hands. I take it you guys are tracking Mancha." 

"Yes, indeedy," Nat said. "We're about ten miles out. What's the plan?" 

"I say we engage," Steve said. "The four of us are a match for whatever goons they have on the ground." 

"Not so sure about that," Sam said. "They're doing experimentation on those kids. Could have us an army of mutant soldiers down there. Could be this is a trap. I say we go in light." 

"And give them time to hurt Morales and the others?"  

"If we get ourselves blown to bits going in fists first, who exactly are we helping?" 

"Might make a good distraction, which is better than tiptoeing." 

"Who's in charge here?" Sam demanded.  

"You're in charge of a Black Ops division that is currently inebriated 100 miles from the action," Steve said. 

Sam gritted his teeth. "This is still Black Ops. You're just a fucking guest." 

"Stellar leadership, Sam. Getting your whole team drunk and letting teenagers run free." 

"Oh screw--" 

"Um, guys?" Bucky interrupted. "Victor's signal just went out, which means either they went underground or--" 

"How are we doing this, Sam?" Nat asked.  

Sam chewed on his bottom lip, studying the map. "Light and easy," he decided. "I'm a mile out from the last ping. Meet at the coordinates I'm attaching to the HoloMap." 

Sam started his descent, turning his comm down so he wouldn't have to hear any disagreement from Steve.  

 _God_. Steve couldn't put their fight on pause long enough to save kidnapped children? And it wasn't like this was the time for Sam to say, _Sorry, Steve, I do love you. But I've got a mental block against us being together so just wait for me, okay?_ There was no way to say 'stop being mad at me' that didn't require a conversation they didn't have the luxury of having right now. So Sam would just have to deal with Steve being an ass. Distantly, the therapist in Sam was a little proud of Steve; at least, Steve wasn't doing the long-suffering martyr who quietly accepts the pain life doled out. He was fighting for Sam. Granted, not very well; it felt more like he was fighting _with_ Sam than for him. But at least he wasn't stuffing it all down like he usually did. Sam could do with a little less questioning of his leadership, though.  

He touched down in a parking lot and rolled behind a delivery truck to turn off his stealth tech. He army crawled under the trailer and adjusted his goggles for night vision. He was looking at a Walmart, out-of-business by the looks of it. He crawled forward some more and adjusted his goggles for precision and then heat signatures. There were people in the Walmart. A couple dozen were standing at regular intervals from one end of the Walmart to other. Probably guards. Sam counted eight bodies with peculiar heat signatures all in a row. Too warm to be anything inanimate, but not quite human temps either. Regular human signatures were around them. Sam frowned. More people were coming in one of the entrances and Sam could just about bet that two of those heat signatures were Miles and America. Victor ran a little cooler, but he was easy to pick out. So they were alive. The building must have run some interference on Victor's outgoing signals.  

"I have a visual on our guys," Sam said into his comms. "What's your position?" 

"We're on the roof," Nat said.  

"Meet me at the pharmacy entrance. They have muscle in there, but it's not that deep as far as I can tell. Lots of nerds, though. And something that looks a little funky." 

"Funky?" Bucky repeated.  

"Get to the pharmacy," Sam said. 

Sam reingaged his stealth tech and flew across the parking lot, hoping he didn't trip any alarms along the way. His luck held and he landed beside Steve, Nat, and Bucky quietly.  

"I'm decloaking," he whispered. "Don't punch me and say I scared you. Bucky." 

"It happened one time," Bucky whined.  

"Yeah, well, my ribs crack way easier than they used to and that's on you." 

"Boys," Natasha said. 

"Right," Sam said. "Here's my plan. We go around to the docking door. Nat does a little peek-a-boo magic and tells us if our kiddos are tied up or impeded. If not, we just make contact and tell them to blast their way out." 

"Didn't America get on the truck because she saw another kid being taken?" Steve asked. 

Sam avoided looking at him to keep his wits together (that damn commander stealth suit always fried Sam's brain) and nodded.  

"So you think she's going to want to run away without getting those kids? She could have escaped at any point. They incapacitated the guards in the back of the truck, but they let themselves be taken into the warehouse." 

"Steve's right," Nat said. 

"I know," Sam said, thinking. "Okay, altered plan. Nat does her scouting and tells us if the kidnapped kids are here. They might be the weird heat sigs I was picking up. If they are..." Sam looked at Steve. "Then we go in hard." 

Steve grinned. "That's what I like to hear." 

"You perv," Bucky teased. 

"Buck, give me a lift," Natasha said. She nodded toward the overhanging where the Walmart letters were unilluminated. Bucky cupped his palms together and let Nat step into his hands. "Easy," she said and Bucky tossed her up to catch the wall. She made a little grunting noise and scrambled up. She looked back down at them. "Pretend that was graceful. And get to the loading dock." 

"Do you think we should let our kids know we're here?" Steve asked. 

Sam nodded. "Good idea. They apparently make really dumb decisions when they think we're not around." Sam tapped his comm. "Falc to Pageant Queen, Calculator, and Araña. You have Falcon, Captain, Soldier, and Spy. Do you copy?" 

The line was quiet.  

"Captain to Pageant Queen, Calculator, and Araña." 

"America," Sam whispered. "Are you guys okay?" 

"Uh, they definitely aren't," Natasha hissed over the comms.  

"Nat, what's going on?" Steve asked.  

"Morales and Chavez are being suspended in a beam of light. I think it's negating their powers." 

"And Victor." 

"It looks like they turned him off." 

"Off?" Bucky asked. 

"He's standing completely still, eyes closed." 

Sam winced. "Nat, give us your location." 

"I'm directly above them," she said. "You guys will run into them if you bear north from the dock door. Four guards in your way. And I think they're packing whatever beam they're using on Morales and Chavez. Six guards over here plus one scientist. I haven't seen the rest of the building. Should I continue with recon?" 

Sam looked at Steve, but Steve shook his head as if to say this was Sam's call. "Rally here, Nat. If that beam takes out powers, Steve might not be any good in a fight and we'll need you." 

"Copy." 

"I think we should assume that they're using a localized electromagnetic disruptor on Victor," Bucky said.  

"Why?" 

"Because that's what I'd use." 

Sam nodded. "Okay. That means no tech either. Just guns." 

"Just guns," Bucky repeated.  

"What about your arm, Buck? That thing goes on the fritz in a thunderstorm." 

"Shit," Bucky said. "Steve's right." 

"So, it's me and Nat," Sam said.  

Nat dropped from the ceiling and somersaulted to her feet. "I guess it is." She smiled. "I kind of like the old-fashioned way, anyhow." 

Sam pulled off his goggles and turned off his wings. The electromagnetic pulse couldn't hurt them if they weren't on. He pulled out a tranq gun. 

"Take the shield," Steve offered.  

Sam frowned. "You're coming up behind us. We're going to disable their weapons and you and Bucky can do mop up." 

"I know," Steve said. "Just take shield, okay. I, um, I don't want you to get hurt." 

Natasha and Bucky both made rude and immature kissy noises that were incredibly inappropriate to the situation at hand. But then so was the warm rush in Sam's chest and the idiot smile that was tugging at his lips. He took the shield.  

"Thanks." 

"You got any meaningful symbols of love to give me?" Nat asked Bucky.  

Bucky patted himself and then pretended to hold up a small something between his fingers.  "This is my favorite pocket lint. May it protect you." 

Sam rolled his eyes. "Nat, take my nine o'clock. Bucky, Steve, 6 and 5. Let's go." 

They marched down the hallway, taking down each guard quietly. Nat kicked the first guy in the throat and tossed his mysterious power-neutralizing gun to Steve to dismantle.  

"I think we should probably save one," Sam said. "For SHIELD to check out." 

"Roger," Steve said. 

Sam shot the next two guards with the tranq gun and Bucky and Steve dragged them behind some shelves so they wouldn't be discovered.  

The last guard was a behemoth and Sam had the sneaking suspicion that the tranq gun would just make him mad. He was at least 6'7 and as wide as door.  

"Did you figure out how to use that gun?"  he whispered to Steve. 

"It's got a maximum stun setting," Steve offered. 

"That guy definitely needs maximum everything," Bucky murmured.  

"Okay," Sam whispered. "We don't know the width of that blast, so everyone fall behind Steve. When you're ready, babe." 

"Babe," Bucky giggled.  

Steve stepped forward, took aim, and fired. The guard went stiff and then in slow-motion toppled forward.  

"Shit," Bucky whispered, running and sliding under the guard's falling body. He caught the guy with his metal arm to keep his massive body from falling into a line of shelves and starting a loud domino effect. Bucky's metal arm trembled. "Someone. Please. Help," he gritted out.  

Steve, Sam, and Nat all grinned down at him.  

"Are you sure you don't want a picture of this for the scrapbook?" Sam asked. 

Bucky's arm creaked ominously. "Guys, come on." 

Steve lifted the guard off of Bucky and dragged him behind the shelves. "Hit him with the tranq gun," he told Sam. "We don't know how long 'maximum stun' lasts and I really don't want to fight this guy." 

Sam shot him up with two darts and hoped that was enough.  

"Chavez and the others are behind this wall," Natasha said., tapping a short wall that didn't go all the way to the ceiling. "Six guards, if they haven't added more. One scientist." 

"Nat and I will go in and disarm the weapons," Sam said. He pointed at the ajar door. 

Natasha smiled. "Hey, Buck, why don't you give me a boost?"  she said, nodding at the top of the wall.  

Sam rolled his eyes and went to the door. He nudged it open slowly and turned to watch Nat's theatrics. She took a few steps back from Bucky and Steve and then ran at Bucky full speed. Bucky caught her just right and launched her  into the air. She went flying, getting at least ten feet of vertical and smiling like a beatific angel all the way up. As she fell over the wall, Sam entered through the door in time to see her shoot and bring down three of the six henchman with perfect marksmanship. She caught on to a conveniently placed loading crane and dangled from it for a second before dropping to the ground in a perfect pirouette.   

"Everybody's gotta show off," Sam muttered, pulling out his handgun. He took aim and shot two of the remaining three minions. He rolled out from behind the door to take out the last goon while the poor bastard was still looking around, wondering what had happened to his buddies.  

Sam walked fully into the lab. America and Miles were suspended in front of large machine in a beam of sickly purple light. Their heads hung from the thin stems of their necks like they were unconscious. Standing to the side of them, Victor was clearly shut off. Sam swept the room for an aggressor, but they were alone except for the machine holding up and neutralizing America and Miles and the scientist who Natasha had now pinned between her thighs, his glasses askew, his face shiny and pink. Sam stepped toward America and Miles, careful not to touch the purple light. They looked dead, their rich brown skin wan, their bodies limp. Sam felt the first shock of fear that this op wasn't going to end happily. He turned to face Nat and the scientist. 

"Ask him how to turn off the machine," he ordered.  

Nat grabbed the scientists by the thinning hair on his head. "Tell us. Now." 

The scientist gasped, clawing at Natasha's legs, shaking his head in the classic, "I'll never talk" language of a top tier henchman.  

Sam walked over to them and shot the scientist in the thigh. He howled in pain "The sooner you answer the question," Sam said, "the sooner this lovely woman will stop applying pressure to your trachea and _start_ applying some to your femoral artery." 

The scientist thrashed around, weeping.  

"You lose more blood moving around like that," Natasha said conversationally. 

"You'll lose a lot more if I shoot you in the other leg," Sam pointed out. "And I don't wanna do that. Then I'll feel like the bad guy. What's that saying? You don't shoot a guy whose already bleeding out of one leg and being slowly strangled by an assassin." 

"I've heard that," Natasha said with a smirk. 

"I only knicked you," Sam said, "but it's enough to kill you in, oh, I'd say thirty or forty seconds. What do you think, Nat?" 

"Forty seconds, tops." 

"I'll stop the bleeding if you just tell me how to turn off those machines that are hurting my niece and nephews." 

"And I'll stop choking you," Natasha added.  

"There's...a...a...code...sequence," the scientist gasped, pointing with his foot to a large wall of switches. "Bottom...four....red, green, black, black." 

Sam walked up to the wall and studied the switches. "This won't turn out to arm a nuclear warhead, will it? Because Natasha doesn't like being lied to." He aimed the gun at the scientist's sweating forehead. "Come to think of it, I don't like being lied to, either." 

"I...I'm...telling...the truth... _please!"_  

Sam and Nat exchanged a look. There was really only one way to find out.  

"Red. Green. Black. Black," Sam said, flipping the switches. Instantly, the purple light died and America and Miles slumped to the ground, no longer held up by the beam. Sam rushed to their crumpled forms. He pulled America into his lap and checked her vitals.  

"Come on, kiddos. You alright?" He pressed his fingers to Miles's throat. He could feel a pulse. Relief hit Sam like an ocean wave. 

America came to first, groggy and disoriented. When she realized she was being cradled in Sam's lap, she sat up straight and knocked her forehead into his chin. "Ow," she moaned. "Why does all of me hurt?"  

"You tried to take on some bad guys without a plan or backup." 

America nodded. "That sounds like me. Miles and Vic?" 

Sam tilted his head toward Miles. "He'll come out of it soon. I don't actually know how to reboot Victor." 

"Vision will know," America said confidently. Of all the adult Avengers, Vision was the only one that America didn't think was a totally incompetent ass. Probably because he was technically only four years old.  

"If I asked you very nicely to create one of your portal things and take Miles and Vic back to SHIELD, would you do it?" Sam asked.  

"How nice are you gonna ask?" America asked.  

"There's a whole deluxe sundae on top of the please," Sam said. 

"What about the girl they took?" 

"I brought backup," Sam said, lifting Steve's shield.  

"Shiny," America siad. Sam thought he _might_ have detected a little bit of an impressed tone.  

"We can't save those kids if we're worried about you three getting hurt." 

America sighed. "Fury promised me a fight and instead, I get taken and knocked out in a second." 

"Happens to the best of us," Sam assured her. "Now make your portal thing and get out of here. And don't go having adventures in other dimensions. Just take Miles and Vic to SHIELD." 

America saluted. "Okay, Sius. Thanks for saving us." 

"Are you kidding?" Sam said. "Slightly irresponsible uncles always come through in a pinch." 

*** 

When America had taken the others out of the lab, Sam and Nat reconvened with Bucky and Steve. Nat had created a crude tourniquet for the scientist and convinced him to tell them that the kidnapped kids were in the center of the warehouse in tanks.   

"Do you want your shield back?" Sam offered Steve as they jogged along the labyrinth of shelves and half walls. 

Steve took it. "You looked good holding it, though," he said. 

"Thanks." 

They weren't trying to be quiet anymore so they took down the guards between them and the kids with extreme prejudice. Bucky and Steve hung back in case there were more neutralizer guns and electromagnetic disruptors, so Natasha and Sam did the work. Sam was just about to comment on how well everything was going, when the roof of the building pulled off like the top of a can.  

"Fuck!" Bucky shouted, grabbing Nat away from raining debris. Steve pulled Sam under the shield and they hunkered down until the sky stopped falling.  

"I was wondering when the Avengers would swoop down on me," a voice boomed gleefully. "Thought I'd have a little more time than this, to be honest. I was very careful in my selection." 

Sam glared up at a man descending from the sky, being held aloft by a girl with black wings. "You took a bunch of black and brown kids, you racist asshole. And we noticed!" 

"I didn't take them because I'm a racist," the man said, sounding offended. "Quite the opposite, actually. I'm turning the neglected youth of America – the ones the government wants to put in jail or the front lines of the military – and I'm giving them superpowers. I'm empowering them, if you will." 

The winged girl set the man down in front of Sam and the others, and then took a step back. Her wings were massive, at least ten feet from tip to tip, the feathers glossy black, only a few shades darker than her deep, ebony skin. Her hair was cut close to the skull and her obsidian eyes were blank. Sam recognized her. This was Tatiyana, one of the first to go missing.  

She stood with her hips set wide, her arms at her side—waiting.  

The man kept talking. "These kids were going to turn into statistics until I came in and saved them. I've given them power they never would have had otherwise." 

"Why?" Steve demanded. "Why were you so generous?" 

"I'm so glad you asked," the man said. "And I'll tell you all about my devious plot in just a second." He held up a remote and in slow motion, everyone tried to react. Sam pressed the power up button on his wings, Nat ran forward to grab the remote, Steve threw his shield, and Bucky raised his gun. The winged girl's reaction time was incredible. She knocked Nat to the ground, caught the shield and threw it at Bucky, knocking his gun away. The man pressed the button on his remote and a blast sent all of them sprawling. Sam heard the wheeze of his wings failing.  

"That was a dual pulse," the man said. "Electromagnetic and disarming. I wouldn't want you interrupting my monologue with your superstrength and neat little toys, would I?" The man clapped his hands. "Now, if you haven't guessed, I'm Bruce Kill. Or, that's my alias. I, like most of the world, have watched the Avengers and powered people take over this planet with ease. Pretending to be our defenders, pretending to care. And I realized, that was a pretty elegant way to do it. Pretend to care. But I couldn't unseat Fury, could I? No, Fury's too smart. Much too smart. So, instead I'm going to discredit him. I'm going to discredit all of you. And then I will be the world's hero. I will be the one they look to. Why? Because I cared. When the Avengers got too big for their britches, I brought them down." 

"What...the fuck...are...you talking about?" Sam said, climbing to his feet. 

"Oh, I'm giving the kids I stole your powers. Little bit of disguise tech and they're going to do some truly despicable things wearing your faces. And then I'm going to kill all of you. And it won't look bad at all. It'll look like I'm a hero." 

"That's your motivation?" Sam said in disgust. "To be a hero." 

"I want to win their hearts, Sam. And their minds. I want action figures. But more than that, I want them to look where I tell them to look when I tell them to look. I want world leaders begging me and my new and improved Avengers team to help them solve their crises. I want their adoration, their respect, their money." 

"Seems a little convoluted," Natasha said from the ground. She clutched her shoulder. 

"All their plans are convoluted," Bucky said. He was still lying on his back, gasping in pain. "Not one villain knows the meaning of the word 'simplicity.'" 

"It's a perfect plan!" Bruce Kill shouted. 

Sam shook his head. "There's too many Avengers to discredit them all before we figured out what you were doing. And the more kids you turned, the harder this little plan would have been to keep under wraps. Lastly, you couldn't resist naming yourself Bruce Kill. Or buying property under that name. Or taking black and brown kids, when surprise, a lot of Avengers are black and brown and they care, even when you've paid off the white police to not care. This plan was bad from top to bottom." 

"Oh yeah?" Bruce Kill said, backing up. "Tell me how bad the plan was when you're dead." And then he screamed "Destroy them!" and Tatiyana attacked. She dove for Natasha first and Sam heard the sickening and unmistakeable sound of bones breaking. Tatiyana's fighting style was unrefined, but she made up for it with brute strength and speed, throwing Nat like a rag doll before either Bucky or Steve could do more than cry out. Nat lay where she fell, unmoving.  

Bucky charged out into the open and Tatiyana knocked him aside with one casual swipe of her arms. He flew spread-eagle through the air and skidded across the floor into a crumpled heap. 

Sam was desperately trying to reboot his wings, but no amount of mashing the button could speed up the process. And now Tatiyana was coming for Steve. She grabbed him by his ankle and took off into the sky.  

"Steve!" Sam shouted, frantically pressing the start button on his wing pack, already on his feet and running toward them. "Steve," he shouted again. Then, "Tatiyana!" 

She was so high in the air, she shouldn't have been able to hear him, but she did. She swerved and turned.  

"Tatiyana!" he shouted again. 

"Stop!" Bruce Kill screamed and then to Tatiyana. "Destroy them! Destroy them!" 

"Tatiyana Coombs. Tatiyana. That's your name!" 

Tatiyana beat her wings slowly, thoughtfully. Steve hung upside down from her casual grip and Sam couldn't see his face, didn’t know if he was conscious, but he was limp.  

"You're Tatiyana Coombs," Sam said. "You have a mother and two sisters. You grew up on Mason Street. Your favorite subject was English." 

Tatiyana's wings flapped once, twice. She tilted her head.  

"You were dating Mickey James. You had a crush on him for two years. You want to go to culinary school." 

"Enough!" Bruce Kill shouted. He pointed the remote control at her and Tatiyana flinched hard, grabbing for her head with both hands and letting go of Steve. 

"RILEY!!!!" Sam screamed, throwing himself into the air and hitting the ground, because his fucking wing pack still hadn't rebooted. And Steve was falling like a rock, whistling for the ground. Falling like Riley had fallen. Falling like Rhodey had. And Sam was throwing himself toward the sky, but gravity had a hold on him. Just like it had a hold on Steve. "PLEASE!!!!" He cried, not knowing who he was asking or for what, but needing this to turn out differently than it was going to, than it always did. 

And then Tatiyana was a black streak in the sky, hurtling toward Steve, flying faster than anything Sam had ever seen. And Bruce Kill was aiming his remote control at her and Sam could see Tatiyana's face, gritted in pain and concentration and he did the only thing he could and hurled his body at Bruce, trusting that this time...this time... 

He landed a punch and blood erupted from Bruce's nose like a fountain. Sam punched him again. And again. And again. Until his knuckles were as busted as Bruce's soft, fleshy face and Bruce was unconscious and hitting him wasn't doing Sam any more good. Someone put a gentle hand on his shoulder.  

Sam turned and there was Tatiyana, propping up Steve, who looked woozy but alive.  

"I'm Tatiyana," she said, her voice low and certain. "I caught your Riley." 

Sam jerked. "No, he's...he's my Steve." 

"I caught your Steve," she said. "And I'm Tatiyana." 

Sam surged to his feet and threw his arms around her. "You're Tatiyana," he said, tears rushing to his eyes. He clutched at her, at Steve, couldn't help the way he sagged into them, relief pulling him down, down, down. But Tatiyana was strong enough to bear his and Steve's weight and after a few seconds, she returned his embrace.  

"That's my name," she whispered. "That's my name." 


	6. How Slow?

 

"Can you just admit that you like the Cap Squad better than the Black Ops Crew? Stop playing with my heart, Sam." 

"Rhodey, for the last time, you were all drunk. Scarily, ridiculously drunk." 

"And who gave us the night off, hmmm? Encouraged us to drink." 

"Not you too, Misty. There was no conspiracy. I love working with you guys. But our young padawans got into trouble." 

"After you got us drunk." 

Sam dropped his head on to the table. "Next time we have an op, we won't take a day off until the thing is done. Happy?" 

Misty wrinkled her nose. "That sounds a little fascist, honestly." 

"I can't win with you people." 

"You people?" Sharon said, putting her hands on her hips. "You people?" 

Misty shook her head. "You still aren't allowed to do that, Share-Bear. But Sharon raises an excellent point." 

"Luke,” Sam beseeched, “you get it, right? I did what I had to do?" 

"I've been trying to remember one of Danny's proverbs about betrayal," Luke said. "It goes something like, 'If Sam likes Cap Squad so much, maybe he should marry them'." 

Sam groaned. "What's it going to take to get a little forgiveness?" 

"Dinner," Misty said. 

"Somewhere obscenely expensive," Rhodey added. 

"Significant others are invited," Luke piled on. 

"You foot the bill," Sharon finished.  

"Did you guys mistake me for some other handsome black guy? Who maybe has that kind of money?" 

Misty shrugged. "Better call in some favors. Because you owe us big time." 

"Oh look," Rhodey said. "Here comes Sam's favorites now." 

They all turned to the entryway of the cafeteria, where Nat, Bucky, and Steve were hobbling in, variously bandaged and crutched.  

"I don't care how pathetic they look or how heroic they are," Rhodey said. "They still can't sit with us." 

*** 

After Sam had punched Bruce Kill (and busted up his hand good enough that Dr. Cho gave him a look when they came into SHIELD HQ), he and Tatiyana had worked together to free all the other kids in their tanks. Bucky had thrown up when he saw them, probably visited by old nightmares of his time with Hydra. SHIELD agents had arrived and scooped them all up, including the scientist and various goons sprawled throughout the building. They were all going to stand trial with Bruce Kill (real name: Theodore Robbins) for their litany of crimes.  

Sam let Fury contact all the families while he looked after the kids, talking with them and assessing their levels of trauma. He brought in the in-house therapists and for the most part, they seemed like the kids were going to be just fine. Helen Cho was brought in to do physicals and she and her team stripped the kids of their mutations, all except Tatiyana who Fury wanted to talk with, first.  

"Your first instinct when you weren't under Bruce Kill's control was to save someone you didn't know," Fury pointed out. "That's a sure sign of a hero to me." 

"Thank you," Tatiyana said. "Thanks for everything, but I just want to go home. I know it's terrible but I just keep thinking about how dumb my homecoming dress is going to look with these wings. I'm just a kid." 

Fury nodded. "You're a really good kid." 

"Thanks," Sam said, rubbing her shoulder. "For saving Steve. The world still needs Captain America." 

Tatiyana gave him a look that was way too knowing for Sam's taste. "Are Black Widow and the Winter Soldier okay?" she asked. 

Sam nodded. "They'll be back at 100% soon enough. They don't blame you for what happened. We've got a lot of experience with mind control around here." 

"And Dr. Cho can take these wings off me?"  she asked.  

"Yep, you'll be good to go," Sam said.  

Tatiyana sighed. "When they took us, I just thought that was it. That we were gonna go missing and nobody was ever gonna find us." She smiled. "Thanks for finding us." 

 "Of course." 

"And tell Bucky and the Black Widow I'm really sorry. And uh, tell your Steve..." She paused. "Tell Steve I'm sorry, too." 

When Dr. Cho came through to collect Tatiyana, Fury raised an eyebrow at Sam. " _Your_ Steve?" he repeated.  

Sam sighed. "I gotta go deal with something." 

*** 

Fury was making Steve, Nat, and Bucky stay on the SHIELD campus until Dr. Cho gave them the all clear to leave. Sam really appreciated that because Steve was known to push too hard too soon. One time, he broke his leg in four places and tried to go downstairs by himself on day three. Sam had paid Bucky a hundred bucks to keep Steve in bed by any means necessary. (Which Bucky had taken to mean, ‘commandeer some magnetic handcuffs and pin Steve to his headboard until Steve breaks his bed trying to get free and re-breaks his mending leg’.)  

Sam approached Steve’s sick room feeling apprehensive. He was going out on a limb assuming Steve still even wanted to talk to him. They had worked together okay, sure, but that had been heat-of-the-battle, save-the-kids adrenaline keeping them going. And now Sam was going to try to take back every shitty thing he’d said to Steve this last month. His stomach tightened into a hard little bundle of stress and his mouth was suddenly very dry. But he had Monica in his head saying, “Don’t. Be. Stupid.” 

He knocked on Steve’s door before he could talk himself out of it. This was easy. Like throwing himself off a building was easy.  

“Hey, Sam,” Steve said, sitting up and wincing. Sam had glanced at Steve’s chart after his first physical. He had a ton of ruptured odds and ends, some fractured ribs and a concussion, nothing he hadn’t bounced back from before. Sam was lucky apparently. Steve had taken most of the blast from Bruce Kill’s fancy weapon and then he hadn’t been tossed around like a hacky-sack after.  

“You doing okay?” Sam asked shyly. 

Steve grimaced. “Literally every part of me hurts, but I’ve been told – by both Natasha and Helen – that I am being a big baby.” 

“That’s cold,” Sam said. 

Steve nodded. “You wanna come sit with me? I called in some favors and they moved me from a twin to a full.” 

“A whole full-sized bed,” Sam said, teasing.  

“Shuddup,” Steve muttered, but he was smiling. 

Sam went to sit on the edge of Steve’s bed, until Steve patted the mattress beside him. Sam did the ungainly crawl to sit next to him. Steve leaned over until he could rest his head on Sam’s shoulder.  

“Hey,” he said. “Are we done being mad at each other?” 

Sam nodded. “I was actually coming to apologize.” 

“I’m sorry, too. I was a jerk.” 

“Yeah, but you weren’t wrong. I was being a coward.” 

Steve lifted his head. “You’re the bravest man I know, Sam Wilson.” 

“No,” Sam said. “I should’ve told you the truth about why I—” 

“Broke up with me.” 

Sam laughed. “We weren’t technically together but sure.” 

Steve frowned. “Doesn’t ‘together’ mean being exclusive and liking each other and having lots of sex? Or did I get that modern thing wrong?” 

Sam laughed. “Somewhere in there, you gotta DTR. Define the relationship.” 

Steve rolled his eyes. “You guys have too many acronyms now.” He patted Sam’s knee and then let his hand stay there.  

Sam looked down at his hand. He always had thought Steve’s hands were beautiful. Long tapered fingers, a big wide palm, the barest scattering of gold-blond hairs. He settled his hand over Steve’s, ran his thumb along the line from Steve’s wrist to the tip of his pinkie finger. 

“We never said we were boyfriends, or partners, or whatever word people use. We just kinda had sex.” 

“You helped me move,” Steve said. 

“As a friend.” 

“You watched my boring documentaries.”  

“Because _you_ like them.” 

“You helped me buy a new bed after the broken leg incident.” 

“Because I like screwing around on your bed.” 

“We went to Monica and Rhodey’s wedding together.” 

Sam bit his lip and looked at Steve. “Shit,” he muttered.” Were we dating?” 

“Yes!” Steve cried. He tried to sit up, but winced as the various injuries he had sustained made themselves known.  

Sam gently pushed on his chest to make him sit back. “Dr. Cho’s going to come in with a sedative if you manage to bust something up just talking.” 

“Well, it’s a big moment,” Steve said. “You’re finally admitting we were together. I may have said some really hurtful things to Natasha though. Something on the lines of ‘you made me look like an idiot for your amusement.’” 

“Yikes.” 

“Yeah, I have to apologize. And she’s probably gonna hold this over my head forever.” 

“Oh absolutely.” 

“That feels nice,” Steve said, nodding at their hands in Sam’s lap. Sam was absently drawing circles and swirls on Steve’s palm. “Tickles a little.” 

“I can’t believe I was the only one who didn’t know we were dating,” Sam said. 

“I can’t believe you almost convinced me we weren’t.” 

“I’m sorry, Steve. I just—I got scared. I wanted to keep things light because...last time things were heavy…” Sam stopped, choking on the words. Which was dumb. He’d talked about this with Steve before. He swallowed. “Last time things were heavy…” 

“Was with Riley,” Steve finished, turning onto his side and nuzzling Sam’s arm like a emotional support dog.  

“Yeah,” Sam sighed. 

“But we can do this, right? You and me. We can be…heavy?” 

“I want to,” Sam said. “I really want to, but—” 

“You think I’m gonna be another Riley.” 

Sam shook his head. “Hold on. Just give me a second to collect my thoughts. Um, there’s been…there’s been this voice in my head telling me that I have to pay for – pay for not saving Riley. For not being enough, for not catching him. And I—how can I be happy—with you, with anybody—when I failed so hard. When someone fails, they don't get rewarded. You get punished. You don’t get to be happy.” 

“Sam,” Steve said, sounding as lost as Sam felt. “Do you think Riley wanted you to be miserable forever?” 

“No, but—” 

“Do you think that he wanted you to go down with him?” 

Sam sighed. “No. Riley didn’t have one selfish bone in his body.” 

“So, that voice in your head isn’t Riley. And it’s not you. It’s just some asshole.” 

Sam fidgeted uncomfortable. 

Steve squeezed his fingers. “You told me your PTSD felt like yawning cracks in your brain, right? And there were monsters trying to climb out?” 

Sam nodded, touched and impressed that Steve remembered the analogy.  

“You said the trick wasn’t to close the cracks. It was to evict all the monsters.” 

Sam nodded, his hand trembling in Steve’s grasp. 

“But I think you left that asshole down there and he started doing some _Inception_ bullshit and now you’re under the impression that you shouldn’t be happy because a terrible thing happened to you.” 

“To me?” 

“You lost your best friend. Your boyfriend. That happened to you.” 

“But Riley died.” 

“Yeah, but you’re the one who had to go on without him. You’re the one who was out of commission for two years. You’re the one who won’t let me love you because some asshole in your head says you need to be punished.” 

Sam’s breaths came out shaky. “You…love me?” 

“I thought that was obvious,” Steve said, smiling tender and sweet. 

Sam looked down at his shoes. “Well, you know, I’m an idiot.” 

“Yeah,” Steve murmured. “I’d noticed that.” His eyes dropped down to Sam’s lips and Sam felt a jolt. 

“What are we going to do about the asshole in my head?” he asked.  

“Well,” Steve said, leaning closer to him. “You’re going to talk to some professional about survivor’s guilt. And you and I are going to take it slow, try not to scare you off.” 

Sam smiled at Steve’s nearness, could feel the heat coming off his body. “How slow?” he asked.  

“Just-dinner-tonight slow. No-going-back-to-my-apartment slow. No-making-out slow. No—” Steve paused to press himself against Steve until they were flush from hip to chest. “None of this,” he murmured. “Slow.” He kissed the tip of Sam’s nose and grinned. 

“I’m taking America, Miles, and Victor for ice cream tonight,” Sam said. 

Steve kissed his forehead. “Going-with-you-and-your-adopted-niece-and-nephews-for-ice-cream slow.” 

"Only if Dr. Cho says you're allowed." 

"I bet you can sweet talk her," Steve said. "If you really wanted to." 

*** 

“Why’s _he_ here?” America asked, nodding at Steve and zipping her coat (but not before Sam saw that she was wearing yet another Captain America shirt he’d never seen before). 

Sam grinned like an idiot. “Me and Steve are going out to dinner after this, so I figured he could just tag along.” 

“Dessert before dinner?” Miles asked. 

Victor shook his head. “Adulthood is total anarchy.” 

“Is it, like, a date?” America asked, turning to Steve. 

Steve looked over her head at Sam, who smiled and shrugged. 

“Yeah,” Steve said, “it’s like a date.” 

America glared at Steve for a long couple seconds, then jabbed him in the chest. “Don’t you hurt my Sius,” she said. 

“Yeah,” Miles and Victor chimed in. 

“What?” Steve said, looking injured. “I would never hurt him. Sam, I’m not going to hurt you.” 

“Or _we’ll_ hurt _you_ ,” America said and even though she was just a teenage girl going up against Steve Rogers, Sam wasn’t 100% sure she wasn’t going to win that fight.  

“How about I get everybody’s ice cream,” Steve offered. “As a gesture of goodwill.” 

“I want rainbow sherbet.” 

“Chocolate fudge brownie!” 

“Pralines and cream.” 

“Pralines and cream? Really?” 

“Why don’t you take out a mortgage while you’re at it?” 

“File some taxes!” 

“Go to bed at nine!” 

“Drink a glass of wine and watch Jeopardy.” 

“And know the answers!” 

Sam tugged Steve’s jacket. (Sam was wearing the matching gray one, had texted Monica and Rhodey that he was wearing it, and they had both replied with a battalion of emoticons and an invitation to dinner next week.) “They could be at that for hours. Let’s just get the ice cream.” 

“Yeah,” Steve said, looking dazed, but amused. “You sure know how to pick ‘em, Sam.” 

Sam smiled at Steve and for a blissful moment, he just reveled in his happiness, in the mutual love between them. He leaned forward and kissed Steve, the softest, sweetest kiss he’d ever shared. 

“Oh my god.” 

“I’m gonna throw up.” 

“Get a room!” 

Sam and Steve looked down at America, Miles, and Victor who were all pretending to be sick. Sam grinned. “I picked some real good ones,” he agreed.   

  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ensemble casts are really, really, really hard. It is a lot of people to keep track of, but I just wanted a fic that was predominantly characters who don't get a lot of shine that I love (i.e. all the black / brown characters I love + Sharon.) But it really wouldn't have been a SamSteve fic if I didn't get Steve, Bucky, and Nat in there at the end. Anyhow, this was really fun to write and was a great distraction from needing to pack my whole apartment up and move. Come talk to me on [Tumblr](http://meegansfuckingjacket.tumblr.com)


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